


Toe the Line

by Creeper_Keaton



Series: Hearth Heart [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angry Scottish muffin, Culinary adventures, F/M, Inspired by Art AU, Marianne works out frustration, NOT art school, Some Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creeper_Keaton/pseuds/Creeper_Keaton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you get stuck in a rut, things tend to take on a rather dismal view. And sometimes you have to claw your way out, shake your fist at circumstance, and strike out on your own. This is Marianne's escape, her haven, and hell to anything or anyone that tries to break it. A series of college AU stories, culinary passions, and a slightly lost Scot. Characters meet, talk, and try not to kill each other.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where two awkward dorks dance around each other and try to fall in love. And one of them has a knife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knives; keep out of exes

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this is not a rip on abutterflyobsession's story! Like most people in this fandom, I'm eagerly awaiting any and all stories, and just desperately trying to ignore the little plot bunnies they breed. This one escaped. I will say that while this IS a college AU, it will branch a tad and hopefully be a bit refreshing for this fandom!
> 
> Random, but anyone that knows me or has read my work, I'm back! A larger explanation will go up on the other stories, so keep an eye out and thank you for your patience!
> 
> Now, onwards! And this fandom should be called 'Stranger Danger'. Once you start writing there is no getting away...

# Knives; keep out of exes

The initial banging had her yelping and flailing madly, eyes wide and almost catlike in alarm. Her body reacted far faster than her mind, ducking to the right- and squarely out of her bed- as her teeth clamped down on the heavy offender above. She was in the process of clawing frantically when a second bang sobered her up, drawing her confused gaze finally to the door.  


Ah. Someone knocking might make more sense, wouldn’t it?  


She spat the feather duvet out violently, eyeing the door suspiciously. There was a scuffling, but at least it was a much quieter alternative. Staggering to her feet, she made for the tiny little peephole. A weak rebuttal from the tangled duvet had her stumble about as it magically wound its way around her legs, and she cursed as she went down again. She blamed all of this, right down to whoever was outside her door, on the whims of damned college life. It was food that made her fall, not a natural lack of grace. It was the brutal homework schedule that had her sleeping late enough to make this whole event more exhausting than it had any right to be. And it was _completely_ based on stupidity that some moron was most likely waking the entire hall.  


She was just scrambling ( _again_ ) to her feet when she heard voice. An awful, drawn-out drawl that was almost a whine. The fact that it was a voice she knew, and well, slurring her name into an almost unintelligible murmur, had her realize two things. First, the delightful sack of shit at her door was drunk as a skunk. Second, that was Roland, and as he slammed presumably his hand against the door she had to fight down the gleeful image of slamming his head in its place. Opening that door would be a definite problem, one that would possibly lead to jail time and a ruined (adorable) pajama set. She set to pacing, feeling the trappings of her limited options pressing in on her. If she opened the door, she’d potentially kill him and lose her scholarship. And, right, prison. If she left him out there, he’d likely take down her door in decent time. It was a pretty cheap thing, like most of the other aspects of her dorm. Not as cheap as the slimeball outside, but that line of thought had her itching for her knife block. Derail that train, Marianne. There was always campus security, but with Roland being friends with them they’d likely just give him a warning and he’d come crawling back the next day. She jumped at the loudest bang yet, back hitting her neighbour’s wall as Roland’s drawl worked into a sudden outburst of song.  


_C’mon Marianne_ , really?  


Another mental image, this one of her opening the door and kicking his smug on-my-knees-again face in, had her tangling blunt nails into sleep-mussed tresses. What to do, what to do… Shit… One hand stayed in her hair, the other finding her face as she nervously chewed on a thumb. Fight, flee, hide? Her worrying teeth pulled at an old cut, and the taste of blood had her hiss quietly. Roland was through the chorus now and her eyes rolled. Really it’s what drew her attention to the window. Sure, it worked on a hinge that opened only so far, but she had a slim enough body…  


Roland started pounding on the door with renewed force, and she rushed through her small common area and hopped across the bed. The window really didn’t open near as much as she wanted, but the thought of cramming herself through the narrow gap and dropping the two storeys was suddenly far more appealing. She could hear the bangs getting louder, and a glance back showed the door quivering on its hinges. Window it was, then.  


As she twisted her head and tried to figure the best way to go through with this madness, the bang to end all dorm-neighbour-bangs echoed through the walls. She jolted, head smashing on the window frame, but not putting her in enough pain to feel a jolt of glee at the sound of Roland’s yelp and the potential sound of a body landing on its ass. Rubbing her head, she stared at the side wall. That wasn’t her door, no. That was totally and definitely the neighbour she didn’t realize she even had.  


There was another scuffling sound, and she heard Roland’s voice, the ever so enchanting baritone, suddenly querulous. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d even yelped. From her resting spot, tucked into her separate bedroom with the entirety of her kitchenette slash common room between the confrontation, she could only just hear a low- and very angry- rumble to counter Roland’s loudness. Her neighbour seemed a bit miffed with this late night concert, and she vaguely wondered if she’d be digging that grave tonight after all.  


Roland’s voice rose in an indignant shout, the dismissal ringing more than clear. His voice modulated from anger and right back into the stupid, annoying song he’d been plaguing her with since their breakup. Her teeth set in a grit, eyes squeezing shut as though that would block out the noise, when there as a manly shriek. Immediately she launched from the window, bolting for that little peephole once again. A prank earlier in the year had some troublesome students smearing shortening across the lens, so her view was cloudy at best. She pressed her eye to the hole, twisting around and attempting to get the clearest view. What she could see was a rather large expense of pale skin, clashing greatly with Roland’s signature green jacket. The mystery man seemed to be wearing only pajama pants and by all accounts didn’t look overtly threatening, but he moved suddenly and she realized his hands were hooked on Roland’s lapel.  


Roland was by no means a small man; he played sports, went to the gym, fussed over his physical appearance until he was the epitome of female desire. He was, for lack of better phrasing, built like a god. But god or no, Mr. E himself was easily dragging him down the hall, presumably to the exit doors just around the corner. Her face was threatening to split into a grin when she remembered the fact that those doors were completely visible from her room window. For the second time this evening she bolted through her common area, legs tucking high as she leapt across the bed and eagerly pressed her face to the glass. She was glad for the lights being off, making her little witness to this show unnoticeable from the outside. She was fiddling with the latch, propping it open just enough to catch any voices, just in case, when the doors banged open and a very confused and ruffled Roland went flying through.  


Holy shit.  


The guy threw him?!  


What was he, some kind of monster heavyweight champion?!  


The guy was standing there, figure hazy through the thick glass and really just a pale form in the dark. He shifted, and she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired head as he leaned out and yelled, loud and clear as she hoped. The effect was instantaneous, Roland’s feet scrabbling as he bolted out of the building’s proximity.  


Marianne’s jaw dropped, watching as the door slammed and the pale figure moved away. She didn’t hear any footsteps in the halls to note his return. She didn’t hear him skulk back to his living space, the one directly beside hers.  


She just kept hearing that enraged, powerful brogue, somehow capable of sending her ex scrambling.

_“Marianne, it’s two in the morning! Are you okay?!”_  


“Dawn wake up!”  


_“Um. Okay. I answered the phone, I think that means I’m awake. So… Not okay? Is this going to be a don’t-tell-dad situation?”_  


“Roland was here.”  


_“What?! Oh Marianne, can I do anything? Can campus security- no, that’s useless at your campus. Um, oh gods Marianne what can I do! It’ll take a day of driving to get to you, and I think you’ll have hurt him by then and-“_  


“He’s taken care of.”  


_“He’s- M-Marianne, are you calling to ask me to help hide a body?!”_  


“I think I have a cohort already, actually. But no. No bodies to hide.”  


_“Okay. You’re my sister, and I love you, but it’s really early and you’re really freaking me out. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?!”_  


“I think I live beside Shrek.”


	2. Stroganoff, Extra Mushroom Please

# Stroganoff, Extra Mushrooms Please

Apparently ‘drabble’ by my mind means ‘let’s make a series of connected stories and see what happens’. I will warn you all, I have a tiiiny issue with food descriptions. People generally get angry at me for making them hungry. I regret nothing.

Not sure if that chapters will stay the same length or if I’ll start going crazy, I suppose that’s something we’ll all experience together. And on an experience note, I really wanted to thank those that left kudos and comments! This is my foray into this fandom (because it’s addicting damnit) and the fast, responsive support is doing wonders after a year of no writing! Thank you all, and know I constantly read and reread so many Butterfly Bog stories it’s not even funny. Your work is so very appreciated!

The sound of the knife’s dull _thud thud thud_ was almost therapeutic in nature, filling the empty kitchen with the promise of a delicious meal to come. The smells in the kitchen were already starting to make her mouth water, even if it was only something so simple as tomato and herbs. But no matter how much warmth the smells brought, how homey the kitchen looked with various pots and pans bubbling away on the stove, nothing could save the fact that, while soothing, the repetitive sound was more than easy to get lost in.

Unfortunately, Marianne’s mind was taking that chance and running wild.

To say she was curious about her strange and silent neighbour would be… well, pushing it, in her opinion. She just felt she had a right to know about potential grumpy pants ogres living in her building, thank you very much. And no matter what Dawn had said, she was rather certain there was some ogre-esque blood going on there. Apparently, shouting ‘and stay out’ did not a Shrek make, no matter how angry and ridiculously Scottish the shout had been. But Marianne knew better.

She just had to prove it.

Which was where she’d thus been unsuccessful, to this point. Her mystery neighbour was silent as the grave, and no matter how many times she rushed her own door at the sound of one opening in the halls, she never caught hide nor hair of him. She couldn’t even rightly say what he looked like, other than dark hair and possibly pajama pants attire. Not likely, but she wasn’t going to cross anything off her list yet. People were weird, and it was college… Eventually her solution was to just leave her door propped open, one of the scattered few down her hall that did so. Of course, most of the other people who were gracious to leave doors open didn’t glare daggers from the depths of them. At least she was left alone to her little domain.

In all fairness, it wasn’t near as bad a set-up as it could have been. She and Dawn had looked at quite a few dorm set-ups, and these were the coziest by far. She had her own private bedroom, space enough for a captain’s bed (stocked with sugar sticks and boxed goods, ready for finals week and any emotional fallout), a good-sized desk, and her gorgeous oak chest, a gift from her father when she moved out here. Branching from her room was the tiny kitchenette, a small round table tucked into the corner by a matching small sink. She’d grudgingly brought a microwave, an emergency heating method, which was tucked into the opposite end of the counter. As a culinary student, the sight was a tad heartbreaking, but enough for her. To finish the room, there was a quaint washroom with the weakest shower in existence. That still wasn’t as distressing as the lack of stove, though.

The room did come equipped with a roommate, settled in her own mirror-image separate room. It was the only school Marianne had seen that had roommates in their own rooms, and she greatly appreciated the privacy. The girl was nice enough, from what she saw, but she was never in the room. Perhaps she was a social butterfly, and she had experience with that kind of personality (thanks Dawn), and couldn’t be bothered to mind. She’d stated, right from the get-go, that no guys were to be brought back, and the girl had agreed quickly enough. One less worry for her.

She felt her pocket rumble, and there was a mild panic as she carefully and daintily wiped her knife, setting it down and almost treating it like glass, before she flew back into high-energy movement. Hands were washed, paper towel attacked until said appendages were as dry as she could afford, before she flipped her phone out with a flourish.

“Only four rings! That’s gotta be a cooking record, right?”

_”Cooking? Already? Geez, it’s only three, you goofball. Why are you cooking so early today? You could be out at Starbucks or something! Meeting people, Marianne, imagine that!”_

“Oh Dawn. They had these amazing mushrooms at the grocery store, so fresh and I swear someone messed up the pricing because these things are glorious. Like, I’ve been eating them raw and they just _sna_ -“

_“Mariaaaannne!”_

She sighed, rolling her eyes but lips quirking into an exasperatedly fond twitch. “Fine, I wanted to make a chicken stroganoff and the key is totally long cook time, so long as the cream doesn’t scald. I’m just slicing up my massive catch of mushrooms, it is taking forever.” She picked up a scant handful, gently trickling them back to the board with a giant grin. “Worth it!”

_”I guess I should thank you, that was restraint on your part. It was under a minute for dinner description, **that** is getting an entry in the Book of Records. But we do need to talk about you and your food rants. It always makes me so **hungry**_.” Her voice wavered pitifully, exhaustion and longing apparent. _”I miss your food so much, if only you could make me dinner **one** more time…”_

Now the eyeroll was more authentic in its annoyance. “Dawn, you’re only an hour away. I already know you and Sunny did _extensive_ research on distance, bus scheduling, the whole shebang. You guys made such a big deal out of it, like I’d moved to the moon. I actually picked a super close college, thank you!”

_”I know, I know! It’s just, we lived in that house together for so long, it’s super upsetting to walk into your room and you’re not there!_ ” The statement led to silence, Dawn likely reflecting whilst Marianne chewed her lip. Dawn, ever quick to lighten a room, perked up and quipped, _”At least you left your cute clothes behind. They’re super awesome, thanks!”_

“And they’re all yours, even if you are digging around in my room without permission. Drive me nuts, Dawn, you’re lucky I don’t have time to come mess you up!” She couldn’t get the threat out without giggling, and she heard Dawn’s short burst of laughter, as well as the ‘so weird, Marianne’ that accompanied.

Dinner prep was much slower after that, jokes and stories exchanged as she settled back into slicing, focus so off the cutting board that she was relying completely on her fingers to keep her hand blood-free. Speed had suffered as well, and she found it was almost twenty minutes of aimless chatting before she had even finished slicing the other vegetables.

“Holy, Dawn, I should really get this on the simmer, was there actually a reason you called?”

_”A subtle hurry-up-Dawn, thanks. I was gonna ask you about the other night! And you call me flighty, wow. Any progress on the mystery totally-not-an-ogre guy?”_ That should have been her clue, right there. For Dawn to ask about an event a week old was the mother of all red flags. But it was such an annoying, lingering thought that she burst. She told Dawn as much as she had learned (still admittedly little), and she had put her knife down just to gesture wildly. When she’d said as much as she could recall, as many trivial postulations and theories, she was rewarded with silence. At first, she wondered if her phone had died- a quick glance said no, and yes her sister was still on the line. Pressing the phone back to her ear, she froze at the tail end of a happy, heartfelt sigh.

“Dawn no. Whatever it is going on in your head, stop it. Stop it now.”

_”Oh I think Dawn yes. Listen to you! You’re ranting. Like, food-passion ranting. About a guy.”_ She covered her face with her bare hand, a moan escaping. There was only one thing Dawn’s curiosity was gonna get her, and that was- “ _I’m totally coming up to visit.”_

Stroganoff tucked away in the fridge neat and tidy, dorm room warm and smelling of the peach crumble she’d stress-baked, had Marianne lifeless with lack of responsibility and thus face-planted on the closest surface. This happened to be not her bed, but the kitchenette chairs. She’d lined them up side-by-side, small body draped over the pair and hand tracing designs on the dingy-coloured floor. She heard shuffling outside in the hall, and for a second she thought it might have been the ogre, but she soon heard the rattling of keys that welcomed the arrival of her roommate. Knowing she could be seen through the open door, she tossed a feeble hand over her head, the gesture turning into a vague hand wave to the fridge, all of this accompanied by a grunt.

The hum her roommate returned was more amused, but she at least knew what Marianne was meaning, and the sound of the fridge opening broke the silence properly. “Wow, crumble too, huh? Rough day?”

Marianne rolled, falling off the chairs and landing on the floor with minimal injury. Sitting up, her head brushed the top of the little dining table. “Steph. My sister wants to come visit.”

“Why is that a bad thing? I thought siblings were there to pick on.”

“And Dawn will pick on- **at-** me. And since you live here, don’t think you’re free from her reign of terror.”

“And what would be so frightening about your sister.” It wasn’t even a question, Steph honestly believed there was no reason to fear the little Litebrite that was Dawn.

“One word. Love.” The blank, or possibly disturbed face, it was hard to tell with Steph’s constant blasé look, went through a small transformation. First confusion, then fear, and finally reluctant acceptance.

“On that note, let her come, but you owe me. And the price is one peach crumble, thank you very much.” She purloined the dessert, firmly slamming the fridge door shut with a swift kick as she headed right back out the door. Marianne whined quietly, turning her head to offer a weak rebuttal, when she caught just a glimpse of Steph kicking at another door, this one out in the hall. No. Not just a door, but the one that belonged to her neighbour.

That _traitor_.

Steph vanished into that portal, and Marianne had a rather unkind thought that she was never feeding that woman again.


	3. Let the Latte Hit the Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom... I need to stop!
> 
> But I'm not going to, so enjoy the ride, everyone!

# Let the Latté Hit the Floor

Wringing her hands nervously, Marianne couldn’t help but get a bit carried away with the tense, fidgety atmosphere. She was, for the first time, dressed in her brand-new chef’s coat (for an _actual legit_ reason), and the starches from the store were catching creases, pressing sharp fabric corners against her uncomfortably. She had been rather content with tugging at her rolled up sleeves, but now things were starting to move. A group of white-clad students, herself included, were suddenly shuffling through a small side-door and into a giant, clattering, and raucous kitchen. She gaped around, at once feeling a mixed basket of not fitting in at all and _belonging._

She’d been more than busy with her semester thus far, even between all the curiosities she had to explore (of which the angry Scot did not make the list, obviously), but this was her first time. Her first big event, her first time in a real, industrial kitchen.

They had been hired out, extra hands for a massive gala that was being hosted at an ornately ridiculous private school. They’d been taking volunteers, and she’d been so cocky signing that form. Now, as she let her gaze slide from the prep table to the flattop to the row of fryers, she was feeling concern set in. This place was chaotic, not at all organized like the school labs. There was no handy station of bowls and tools and spatulas, whisks, spoons. Everything was scattered, cups of utensils here whilst odd arrays of metal hung from the range hood. It was so recognizably _foreign._

There was a voice, and she jerked her head to stare at the man heading her huddled little group, his hand held high as he waved a flimsy scrap of paper. There was shouting- everything in a kitchen was done at high volume- and she was ushered into yet a smaller group, another- and just as loud- man waiting for them. It was down to three now, and he organized them with an efficiency that reminded her of a sheepdog with his flock. It seemed like she blinked, and then she was in front of a cutting board, 8-inch chef knife clutched like a life line as she stared down a mound of potatoes. For all that they had no real eyes, those _bastards_ were looking at her.

One last nervous swallow and her eyes narrowed, small hand reefing her sleeve higher, rolling her shoulders back with grim determination.

_Let’s do this._

In retrospect, she may have been a tad wiser had she told her sister she was coming up, but there was that saying about hindsight. Something about it being important, but really she wasn’t concerned. This was a huge campus, and she’d really only ever looked around dorms with Marianne, never taken in the finer aspects of these grand institutes of learning.

No, Dawn was going to **explore**. It was quite strange, after all her years dealing with highschool, to be given almost free range of the building so late in the evening. Well, late enough that she was starting to feed off of adrenaline and not actual reserve energy. First coffee shop she found would remedy that well enough. And since the cafeteria had still been open, even at quarter to 11 in the evening, she had no doubt it wouldn’t take long at all to find a caffeine source.

Just follow the flow of exhausted students, they’d pull her in like a current.

In the meantime, she was happily skipping through some long-quiet hallway, peering through darkened studio rooms. The walls here were cement blocks, heavily slopped with white paint that just made the pops of colour all the more obvious. They were everywhere, in the form of wall murals and posters, paintings askew as the sticky tack started to wear. It was amazing, art running rampant down the hall!

Kind of like her, as she bolted from piece to piece, head tilting this way and that at the more obscure projects and hands covering her giggles at the overly bright, gaudy ones. Light was spilling out of an open door, and she poked her head in merrily. There were more people there than she expected, all of them coated in some artistic medium and within arms’ reach of a Starbucks. She trailed in, her glittery skirt catching the studio lights set on the hodge-podge of metal in a corner. Some of the students looked up, but they all seemed rather content to keep quiet and not chat with her.

Leaning daintily by someone, not close enough to be considered over their shoulder, she watched them apply clearcoat to a swirling mess of cool-tone colours. It almost looked like a whirlpool in a swamp, but she decided not to voice that opinion. Instead, she focused on the face, a younger man that looked friendly enough, she supposed.

”Excuse me?"

The guy jumped, obviously not noticing her, and his hand, in the process of wiping excess paint on a towel, skipped across his forearm. When his eyes found hers, she giggled. He looked alarmed, and she wordlessly nudged his Starbucks cup a tiny bit closer, in hopes he'd attempt to fortify himself.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, and she wondered at his lack of response. A quick glance once again at the cup and she pulled back, smile becoming less intense. Marianne often told her to tone it down, because _apparently_ she had a tendency to be a bit overbearing. Psh.

”Sorry to bother you-“ affirming glance, “Benjamin! I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m just a little lost is all…” Pressing a finger to her lip, she batted her eyes innocently and watched as his own almost glazed over. “Do you think you could, maybe… help a girl out a bit?” The guy's eyes went even wider, if possible, and he managed a weak and infatuated grin. 

Bam, instant tour guide. Oh _yeah._

The sous chef danced out of the way, watching as his own minions fought their way around the new recruits. It was always interesting, getting these little ones in the kitchen when they had so little experience. Best to stick them in a corner with a mountain of prep and hope one of his boys didn’t take a stab at them. He’d already heard the telltale ‘I _swear_ you walk behind me without _saying_ behind **one more time** ’ and had had to intercept, sending the frazzled guy out for a smoke. So far, (though it was getting closer, surely) no blood no foul.

”Behind, behind, BEHIND!” He was a bit ashamed of the jolt he felt, dancing out of the way only to realize he wasn’t the one being scolded. No, it was yet another student stumbling around that was going to need saving, and he was ready to move when he saw the vocal little spitfire. He’d expected one of his own to be at breaking point, not one of the trainee flock, and yet there she was. She was small, hair swept back professionally and sleeves clean. Her apron was a mess, and it was what she was using to hold a hot pan as she attempted to move from one station to the next. There was a frightening moment as he realized she was potentially cooking, but then he saw a chef de partie grab the pan, giving her a nod and grin of thanks. She gave a saucy little salute back, spinning on her heel as her voice boomed and scattered the little ones again.

He hovered closer, giving a wave to another chef to make sure preparations were still all in order whilst he was distracted. She was prepping tomatoes, serrated knife flashing as she sliced near-perfect rounds. And eyebrow raised in surprise, he stepped almost directly behind her, settling in for a good chunk of time. This one was worth observing.

Dawn had long abandoned the flustered art student, kindly thanking him for his guidance before she’d hugged him and skipped away. He was nice enough, and plenty cute, but he also had the tendency to stop and point out weird architectural things when she was trying to scout out all the cute college boys. Now she was staring curiously at a set of stairs, only six deep, that led to a large square room.

A large square room, half walls banistered with shining wood, that was _suspended_

Over the cafeteria.

It was almost like a split level, stairs branching off from it at random intervals to connect to the upper floor, even as it hung down towards the lower. It was only because the superbly high cafeteria ceilings that it worked at all, and though it looked a tad strange she was smitten. There were lounge chairs and couches, countless outlets, and many, many tired students. The best part? This thing totally came with a Starbucks.

Skipping down the stairs and giving a jaunty wink and wave to a few laptop-bound guys, she danced her way through the room, heading straight for a set of stairs that snaked down towards the cafeteria. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the higher vantage point had let her finally find the coffee shop, tucked away neat as you please in the back corner. Some miraculous genie had granted her a short line, too, so it was within minutes of finding the place that her tiny hands were wrapped around a hot chocolate.

Crawling back up the steps, content to hold the drink in front of her nose instead of drinking, she found the plushest couch and sank down. There was a bronze plate attached to the wall right across from her, the words ‘The Pit’ pressed into it. The wall underneath was carved with names, so many that it looked more like some kind of jagged sketch. She let herself get lost in the designs, still not taking a sip as her vision fuzzed at the edges. It was a hint of movement that brought her back, and big blue eyes flicked to the massive wall of windows that stretched floor to floor. With a squeal she launched up, not spilling a drop as she sprinted towards them and smashed into the half-wall, upper body leaning so far forward that a few nearby students almost got up to help.

It was _snowing_!

She pulled back, swivelling about for the nearest stairs, when her feet pulled her before she was entirely ready. One, two, three steps up as she watched the dancing snowflakes outside (the first snow of the season!) and then she collided, body thrown off balance as everything tilted back and she was falling.

The room was dark, no a sound coming from it even if it smelled like the most heavenly thing Steph had ever encountered. She was wary, though. She knew her roommate well enough to worry about the gaping, propped doorway. Marianne did _not_ leave the door open unattended.

Shifting her weight to the side, she propped a hand on her hip and glared, clearing her throat loudly. The response was a growl, and not a flying knife, so she took a chance and moved, flipping the light switch on. The amber glare levelled at her was maybe an 8 on the anger scale. Still a chance for survival, then. Stepping into the room and kicking the door prop, she tossed her bag to the floor before turning to face the little thing. Immediately taking in the scene, she wondered at the forethought of closing the door.

The table, small already, was so crowded with food and dishes that the plates overhung the edge. There were appetizers, mains, even a few desserts, all of the little pastries and goodies crowded on the one plate closest to Marianne. Smart woman, keep the best stuff near to heart… She coughed into her hand, debating just what the game was, when Marianne reached a hand out and lovingly fixed some small garnish detail. The plate was already lovely, glistening greens flecked with sesame, some kind of glazed salmon fillet resting _just so_ on them. The garnish, a dainty lemon twist and some tiny purple flower, was now standing tall and bright.

The silence was too much for Marianne, as she suddenly smiled. “Looks good, right? They really liked my work tonight, decided to hire me on the spot. Too bad I don’t have time, but hey! Figured I should give the recipes a try. Not often you get such… _inside information_ , huh, Steph?”

The piece fell into place, still not an entire picture but enough that she knew exactly what was going on. “Is this about the guy next door? You’re pretty fixed, huh.”

Abruptly her face washed red, whether in anger or embarrassment undecided. “I’m not _fixed_! I just wanna know who this guy thinks he is, throwing people out doors and screaming at two in the morning!” Her hands had moved from the plates, now flying about in a panic. Steph had the grace to snort.

“He’s the guy who thinks little of some girl who lets her crazy, loud boyfriend in to wake people up until bodily removed.”

Marianne’s face went bright red, pale, then right back to flushed before she stood, slamming her hands on the only clear tabletop. Steph moved as quick as she could, just catching a plate of sliced pesto-crusted chicken. She clutched the food closer, deciding she was going to make off with it as payment. “Roland is **not** my boyfriend. Don’t you dare say that again.”

Steph met her eyes for the second time since entering the room, feeling some kind of idea niggle at her mind. The anger at this guy, the fact that someone had helped remove him. There was a lot she could say about men, and most of it likely unfair _and_ unfounded. By the sounds of it, this Roland guy was one she'd love to rip apart, if the sheer, shaking rage in the fierce brunette was any indication. Assholes were assholes, someone had to put them down. She almost regretted not being home that night, of all the nights.

Holding her free hand up, she sighed and let her shoulders fall in mock defeat. “Fine. Okay. I’ll give you something. But don’t blame me if he tries to murder you. He holds a grudge like nobody else. His name is-“

Bog lunged forward and caught the wee thing by the arm, her body rocking to the side as she tried to catch the banister. Her coffee was a lost cause, dropping to the stairs and splashing the both of them in a syrupy, chocolate-raspberry mess. His lip lifted in a sneer before he could stop it, and he couldn't even remember what curse he'd snarled at the initial collision. His mood was completely foul now, leaving him mumbling obscenities and weakly kicking a leg as though that would remove the drink. Her gasp was what brought his head back up, and he saw that her free hand- he was still clutching the other in one spindly hand- was covering her mouth as she stared.

At him.

Self-consciousness flooded as he tried to recall what he was wearing, remembered the uneven scruff on his jaw and the black, black circles under his eyes. As if his face weren’t bad enough… Seeing that she’d caught her balance, he let go like she burned, wiping his hand weakly over the whipped cream that had ended up on his broad chest. He still had to go _downstairs_ , but now he debated just jogging back up and following the winding English department, a good five-minute set back. Anything to avoid the look she was giving him, that horrible look of fear.

”I-I’m so _sorry_ , I didn’t mean...” Her voice was shattered-sounding, body trembling. Eyes widening, he realized she was about to cry. Yeah, he was never leaving his room again if this was the reaction he could expect. A hand caught his, the one still resting chest-level, as she pulled it aside to lean in. “Oh my goodness, your shirt! I’m really _so_ sorry, I was just- Can I do anything to help?” Mouth agape at the unexpected kindness, he was helpless against distraught blue eyes, his hand unresisting in the hold of this little ball of sunshine, or melted stardust, or some such radiant thing.

_Jesus_ how caffeine-deprived was he to be waxing poetic.

Guilt hit him then, since she still looked so bloody upset. Un-hunching his shoulders, he turned his head to peer overboard to Starbucks, the shop easily in sight with his towering height. The line was short enough… Clearing his throat, and disentangling his hand, he made a vague gesture to the spilled chocolate. “I think I’m th’ one to apologize, miss.” Her eyes lit up suddenly, and he wasn’t sure what caused it but it made a hand lift awkwardly to the back of his neck. Rubbing it lightly, he sighed. “L’me buy ye another, an’ we’ll call it even.”

Her face lit up, so much that there was no chance he could make eye contact without bursting into flame or possibly devolving into a musical number, and small hands curled up in front of her chest as she all but squealed.

By the gods what had he gotten himself into.

And so the food descriptions begin. I still regret nothing.

As some people may wish to know, a kitchen is run by the head chef. Following is the sous, kind of the step-in since head chefs are always running around being silly. After that, a big kitchen would have the chef de partie, which are kinda the group leaders. So one would be head of vegetables, one for garnish. Then there’s a slew of line cooks, the saucier (soup and sauce guy) and you know what go watch Ratatouille lol.

This chapter is considerably longer than the others and I still blame this fandom for that. And I want to also strongly thank the readers of this fandom because I am getting a surprising amount of hits and kudos and even a few comments and it’s so amazing. Amazing enough that I rattled out a run-on sentence.

Anyway, don’t get too comfortable with daily updates, some sickness has obviously infected me. That’ll end soon. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to scold me for continuity or silly mistakes or whatnot!

Thank you all again! Happy reading!

Also I do not own Starbucks. Or Strange Magic. I do own numerous chef coats, and some lovely knifes!


	4. And Don't Forget the Whip(lash)

# And Don't Forget the Whip(lash)

###### 

Marianne groaned, back sore from bending over so long. Not only had her actual shift been rough, but the little chat with Steph, as well as the massive clean-up that had followed, had had her crouched over a table, or a drawer, or a cursed plastic wrap box for _way_ too long. Finally on her feet, she pushed both hands down her spine as she considered her options. Steph had given her Mr. E’s name, as well as a single place and time. She’d been rather cryptic with what it regarded, simply saying 'he’ be there if she was really that curious.

She really couldn’t deny it, she _was_ curious. Not only because the guy sounded like he’d crawled from a Scottish mire somewhere, but because he’d helped her get rid of the botfly that insisted on sticking to her. If she bothered to look closer, _which she didn’t_ , she’d even be willing to admit that she’d like to… thank him, and maybe even apologize. She wasn’t accustomed to others cleaning up her messes, but that had definitely been a good one to get a step-in for.

Making sure the door was locked tight- roommate gone for the night with one last, concerned look, hands gripping a plate of food as she all but ran- she finally, _thankfully_ headed for her room. Glancing at the paper she’d written the times on for Mr- _Bog, his name was Bog_ ’s meeting spot, she scrunched her face in thought. It was Friday night, maybe only an hour left before she was officially faced with the weekend. The information, hopefully not false, said Mr. Bog did whatever he did at approximately seven am on Sunday. She’d hoped it wasn’t some religious function, her opinions clashing with just about everyone without the added weight of church regulations, but Steph had told her the location of a nearby park.

Shrugging, she taped it to the fridge, considered buying magnets once more, then decided the hell with all things awake and swung her bedroom door open. The room was near-black, just how she liked it, and she slugged her way to the bed before bodily dropping into it.

The bed screamed.

Marianne screamed.

A scuffle brought her pinning her bed covers, something squirming around inside as she panted, eyes wide with panic. A gasp, a very familiar one, sounded beneath the duvet and she ripped them back in shock. _**”Sunny?!”**_

The young man coughed, clawing his way free and batting at her hands. “Yes, _yes_ , it’s Sunny! Sunny needs to breath!” She leaned back immediately, eyes still wide but now with curiosity.

They then narrowed in suspicion. “Sunny, _what_ are you doing here?!” She knew. She knew before he said it, knew before she actually _knew_ -.

”Dawn wanted to come up, geez! W-where is she? She said she’d wait out in the kitchen…”

-she’d have to find her sister, before somebody else did.

###### 

He should have known, should have _known_ that the little slip of a blonde would give him trouble. All women, in his admittedly limited experience, were trouble; from his nattering mother to his obnoxious classmates to, yes, this very mad, tiny Dawn.

He should have left her in The Pit.

True to his word, he’d walked with her down to the coffee shop, steps stilted and awkward with drying syrup as she’d bounced freely about. His stride was too long for her wee little legs and, mixing with his near-permanent hunching, had him shuffling rather pathetically along behind her. She, far more chipper than even that radiant first-impression could have foretold, was dancing between windows, seeming to find delight in each and every snowflake. He had been called over, time and again, to see just what crystalline figure had cut itself along the glass.

And that was only on the way **to** Starbucks. After, she’d pressed him for information. It was supposed to be friendly, he guessed, some reach-out to his dear soul or whatever it was chatty little angels thought they could do, but the cafeteria lights were too bright, her smile too insistent. In the end he’d snarled at her, telling her to leave off this damned interrogation if only to abate the squirming discomfort he was feeling. He’d snapped, fully and only once, because the moment his voice deepened, rasping the command, he’d had the pleasure of watching her face crumple. She’d either mastered it, or people didn’t yell very frequently at her, because her face became the perfect mask of grief; lip quivered, hands braced loosely over her heart, eyes watering.

He’d stuck to ambiguous and muttered responses after that. He had no desire to be removed from his own campus should someone catch a man like him with a sobbing little thing at almost midnight. Guilt, obviously, had nothing to do with it.

After the cafeteria had darkened enough that he was feeling comfortable, she’d dragged him by the hand to the brightly-lit study area; The Pit to anyone with any no-how of the college. The way she announced the name, along with the sudden questions about the actual campus, made him realize that she wasn’t a student here at all. He’d been, up until this point, attempting to find a way to dislodge this little burr in the form of human glitter. Now, with her so young and innocent whilst other late-night students watched her with such curious hunger… Damnit.

His cursed, crook-toothed mouth had opened, and he wished to god he could have stuffed something into it. Anything. And old boot, ideally, just to cover the words that spilled out.

”Why don’ I walk you to where you’re going.”

And now. Now. He had this little helpless princess leaning against his side, far too short to even reach his shoulder, as they trudged across the compound. She was crashing, and hard, nearly falling asleep with every step, and he was left to to navigate their way across the cold grounds. Thankfully the snow refused to build up, melting on contact and leaving him with fewer obstacles to guide the sleep-deprived girl through. That didn’t mean she didn’t trip on the occasion. He was far from perfect, after all.

He still wasn’t sure why he was helping so much. It really wouldn’t have been that hard to locate campus security, have her sent on her merry way so he could go his. Perhaps it was because she was so pitiful looking, too bright for a place where everyone survived on baggy sweatpants and caffeine intravenous. It could have been that she was conveniently heading in the same direction as himself, whomever her friend was living in his own dorm building. Hell, he might have even felt some kinship because she’d proclaimed her love for autumn and pumpkin spice lattes, both very serious business in his opinion. He gently tried to push away the thought that it was because she’d been nice, almost sweet to him. No, that thought was crushed down under one very heavy boot.

Her whole body shook with a yawn so wide he almost felt his _own_ jaws crack and she abruptly sagged against him. Grunting, his arm wrapped around her to steady before he attempted to continue his trek. She fought weakly, muttering something under her breath, and if that was ‘Boggy’ that escaped her lips he was going to drop her where she stood. Leaning a tad closer, he tried to catch the word.

Of course, once he verified it he sullenly stepped away and let her go, some satisfaction seeping in at seeing her flail wildly on her way to the ground.

”Ow! Boggy, that was mean!” 

Leaning forward, he glared down at her until sure she was fully paying attention. “Bog.” Her cheeks puffed out at that, arms crossing tightly under her chest as she turned her gaze straight. Those big, sweet eyes, currently glaring holes in his knees. So tiny! Then she hiccupped miserably and he felt his lips twitch out of their grin, dipping down in fear.

Oh no. No no. Please don’t-

”Wait, Ah didnae mean ta-“ He coughed into a fist, swooping down into a crouch and tamping down some of that distress. Trying to catch her eyes, he tried again with far more control. “Ah didn’t mean t’make you cry, Princess.”

Blue met blue, her eyes shining with tears and something close to gratitude, and he reached a hand out for her to take. She mirrored him, a smile nudging her cheeks, when his world jerked to the side.

The air left him in a heavily accented heave, shoulder connecting with the mercifully unfrozen ground. Wet? Oh yes, very much so. His body flipped, knocking him onto his other shoulder before gravity slammed him back-first and he remembered that hands could be used to balance himself. Sprawled somewhat ungracefully, limps splayed on the sodden earth, he grabbed for his assaulted jaw as his eyes swept up for the person who dared punch him.

He’d have been blind to miss the girl, looming- for lack of better word she was tiny too- over his form as she lifted a lip in an aggressive snarl.

She managed to both hiss and spit at him, cheeks flushed heavily in rage. “You keep your hands off my sister!” She was hard to make out, the darkness heavy this time of night, but what he could see was almost, dare he say, _intimidating_. Shoulders curled inwards, fists and jaw clenched, knees bent for balance. This was a little lassie used to a good scrap. He started to stand, eyes lazily sweeping up her form as a means to distract from his own boiling anger, the snarl building in the back of his throat negating that. And then he met her eyes.

Bludy _hell_.

If Dawn’s blue eyes broke the mold, the frigid colour somehow the warmest thing he’d ever seen, then this Princess did exactly the same in reverse. Honeyed browns, the coziest hue he could possibly imagine, were sharpened into something jagged, broken. It was like someone had taken the clearest cuts of amber and set them in her face.

Also, a blast chiller might have been involved somewhere, the glare was that glacial.

It had been enough, her glare, to stop him in his tracks, stop from pulling himself to his full height. It had dwindled his snarl into something weak and strangled, caught in the back of his throat. She, in turn, not immobilized in the slightest, took one giant half-lunge at him. Only half, because out of nowhere Dawn had gotten between them, one hand nervously batting at the woman whilst the other waved nonchalantly at him.

”Sorry, don’t mind her, it’s just totally past her bedtime! Yup, just a bit grumpy is all- _would you **stop** he was just trying to help me up!”_ The dark-haired girl was still snarling, one hand stretched over Dawn’s shoulder as though still contemplating taking a swipe or two at him. Once more growl and she huffed, jerking back and away from her sister as she set her hands on her hips, muttering insults under her breath. She still looked deadly, no doubt about it, but she also seemed rather loathe to go through her sister to get to someone like him.

And that’s exactly how she was looking at him, like something she’d scraped off her shoe. He felt a rise of indignation, and angry yell pushing behind his teeth, but Dawn turned and hit him with that pathetic look, no warning signs at all. Rubbing a hand over his sore jaw- and damn if the arm wasn’t sore as well, after his little unexpected tumble- he managed a quiet ‘no worries’ that she gratefully took. Snapping up his acceptance, she whipped around and pressed hands to her sister’s shoulders, for all intent and purpose shoving the (slightly, only very slightly) taller sister away. She barely turned back after that, only taking a second to shout a merry ‘thank you bye Boggy!’ before the two were hurrying off through the gentle snowfall.

Weakly, still in some form of shock, “It’s Bog.”

He was never leaving his damn room again.

###### 

I’ll have to look through Tumblr again, but some brilliant person mentioned that Bog would totally like fall stuff, pumpkin spice latte included. I can’t help but giggle at this, and so it has been included. Thank you, you brilliant mind out there!

Now that I have a few moments, and a few comments, I just want to really thank everyone! This is the fastest I’ve ever written out a story, a chapter a day. It’s almost- I’m gonna do it don’t hit me- magical.

So Endora, Ishbella, Chaboffle, thank you so much for enjoying it! Two of you loving cretins write this fandom as well, and it’s all so addictive! I love your works, so having you comment is super flattering!

Elf Kid, please _please_ let me use that whole ‘which room’ thing, oooh that scattered so many plot bunnies about. At least you know how they got acquainted! And I think there’s lots more, we’ll see!

Lastly, Butterfly, you totally do own the college AU. Just sayin’. But my story won’t focus too much on actual school, so hopefully I won’t tread on too many toes. Seriously, thank you so much for the praise! You’re lofely!

I’m off to go cook something now, perhaps this shall shake some more bunnies out of whatever bushes they’ve tucked into. Thank you all, and have a lovely evening!

Random but maybe it's just me; as a cook I name all rabbits I see 'Stew'. So now I can say, with my little plot bunnies, that I'm off to stew over this story. Buh-dum tish.


	5. Trick or Treat!

# Trick or Treat!

###### 

Marianne was sitting on her desk, one leg folded underneath her body as the other helped with balance, balance she sorely needed as she leaned as far as possible towards the pair perched on the edge of her bed. Sunny opened his mouth, face flushed with shame, and she snapped at him before staring him down over a pointed index. 

”You, not now. I will question you soon enough.” His jaw clicked shut, and she reached blindly behind her to bat at the desk lamp. Light hit the pair, causing them to blink at the sudden brightness. “Dawn, dearest Dawn. Just _what_ do you have to say for yourself.”

The petite blonde huffed, fingers curled into the plush and much-abused blanket half across her lap. “I was just looking around.”

”Dawn, you can’t just ‘look around’! You could have gotten lost, or someone could have hurt you, and what was even with that- that walking post you were with?!” A questioning look, and Marianne rolled her eyes. “The guy, Tall and Creepy. And yes, those are most definitely capitalized. What in your right mind- of _all_ the people on this campus- what _were you thinking?!”_

”Okay, first, Boggy wouldn’t hurt me, he was nothing but a sweetheart!” Ignoring her sister’s incredulous mutter of ‘Boggy?’, she plowed on. “And I’m more than capable of finding my way around a school, Marianne! I’m not an idiot, and you don’t have to freak out and follow me around and- augh!”

Now Marianne felt a tug of guilt, a flood of sheepishness, as she wracked a hand through her hair. She was on the brink of apologizing when Dawn lit up like her namesake. “I can’t believe you have a Starbucks here!”

Hopping off the desk, Marianne kneeled in front of her sister, looking deep into her eyes as her hands gently caught her shoulders.

She then shook.

”You drive me _crazy!”_ Dawn caught her forearms, pulling her forward until she could wrap her arms around her.

”You drive me crazier.” Marianne sighed, sinking into the hug and gently resting her cheek against Dawn’s shoulder. After a moment, she pulled back with a wry grin.

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she gave a little shudder and grinned widely. “I must be tired, letting you get all _sappy_ and _huggy_.” Screwing up her face, nose wrinkled and tongue peeking out, she pounced on Dawn and tickled nimble fingers down her sides. “And now, some much-deserved torture to balance out all this _mushiness_! Hey, don’t think I forgot about **you** , Sunny!” She pounced for him as well, he at least having more sense to scurry away as she gave chase. Dawn joined in on the battle, wrapping arms around the pair until the three were a tangled heap of limbs and laughter. Sprawled out, she turned her head to the younger pair. “Seriously, guys, next time just shoot a text before you visit, okay?”

Speaking of phones, she wiggled about until she could reach her pocket, grabbing the device and dancing blunt-nailed fingers across the screen.

**hey steph cn u lend me ur rm for tmrrow? Make u brekkie! And I owe u for the insider info, just name it**

She gave a quick peek at some sites, hoping for a quick response, and she wasn’t disappointed.

**No worries, take the room. Good luck on Sunday.**

Dropping her arm, and the phone alongside it, she snuggled into her sister’s side. It was a tight fit, the three of them on her little bed, but she’d have Steph’s room tomorrow. No sense waking them up when they were so comfortable. For now, she’d deal with the closeness, with the tired murmurs and giggles. Her eyelids started drooping, thoughts shutting down until only one niggled at her mind, impossible to drop but so very hard to grasp. She just wanted to relax, knowing Dawn was safe, even if it was thanks to some Boggy-

Boggy. _Bog_. Her eyes snapped open. There was no way two students had that same, unfortunate name.

She’d punched her ‘saviour’.

Damnit.

###### 

In an eerily similar setting, Bog was reclined in his room as he stared down the bumbling duo in front of him. He had a feeling he’d have snapped sooner if not for the godly, oversized chair that took up most of his living space. It was his favourite on the entire campus, the only one he could stretch his whole length out on. There wasn’t a single day that went by that he didn’t regret buying this damn thing, even if he’d had to take the doors off the hinge just to fit it in.

”It is a _pretty_ bad bruise, don’t you think? Should we maybe call her?”

”Are you crazy, do you _want_ her to find a way out here?”

”But she said we were to keep an eye on him! Now he can’t even _see_ out of one eye!”

"Well then, **you** tell her!”

Even his grinding teeth couldn’t block out the bickering, and he contemplated sweeping a leg out. They were indeed long enough, in the small room, to knock the both of them over. Topped with the soreness settling in his body- and indeed his face, what a punch- his temper was fanning to a fever pitch. Hands, steepled in front of his _dignified_ nose, suddenly slammed down on the armrests as he pulled himself upright. They jumped, turning to face him with matching wide eyes, and he jerked his jaw to the side, tension easing at the sharp **crack** of his neck

One hand jabbed at his roommate, awkward little Thane, and he all but growled, “ _You_ will keep your mouth shut. My mother is nae t’hear a word of this, aye?” He glared as hard as he could, lip naturally curling up at the intensity as the younger man shook like a leaf. At the shaky nod, his finger jabbed toward the last occupant in the room. “And you! What are ye even doin’ here! Y’have your own room!” His brogue had lilted higher than intended, and he blamed it on exhaustion.

Face notoriously blank, Steph stared back. “My roommate has her sister over. I’m staying here.”

He groaned, running a hand over the unblemished side of his face. “A’right, _fine_ , but if the both of ye decide to watch movies and **sing** , I’m lockin’ yer sorry carcasses in the room and settin’ it on fire. Wait. The roommate with the 2am concert?” At her nod, he glared at the adjoining wall. Cement bricks to hell, he’d find a way to burn them, especially if having the sister there caused another ruckus.

Messing a hand through his hair, he finally relaxed again. “Anything else of int’rest I should know about?” Perhaps he should have noted Steph’s glance at Thane, who was still trembling. Noted how she stepped just in front of him, stealing a peek at her phone and tapping out a quick message. She then stared him straight in the eye, raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Not a single thing.”

###### 

Sunday morning both came far too quickly, and at the same time nowhere near fast enough. As much as she loved her sister, she really had forgotten how very exhausting she could be. A whole day, with feeding her and shopping with her and generally listening to her harp on about _every single cute guy_ they passed, and she was ready to lock herself in her room. In the end, when they had set up the DVD player and started harmonizing to Disney, she’d bolted from the room. One strong, brutal kick to Steph’s door, just to the right of the handle, had the lock pop and the door swing wide. A quick ‘good night love you’ and she’d slammed the door behind her, leaning against it with a tired groan.

She was thankful now, at the ass-crack of daylight, that she’d gone to bed so early. The note said seven in the morning, and as she clutched her subpar coffee and headed for the car. She cursed the early October air, already so frigid that she’d bundled into two different sweaters _and_ her puffy quilted jacket. She didn’t even care how ridiculous she looked; the sun wasn’t even up fully so it’s not like too many people would see her.

With the cold air, the early morning, and the fact that it was Sunday, she was fully certain this Bog character was performing some kind of evil ogre ritual. Who else woke up so early on a free day. It didn’t make sense. She fully expected the bleating of a goat to lead her straight to him. Gods know nothing else had. She really was getting tired of combing this park, just for the sake of apologizing to his face.

And then she remembered how his body had smashed into the ground, and the guilt renewed. Onwards it was.

And old lady feeding pigeons finally pointed her in the direction of ‘a tall, handsome chap’ (o- _kay_ ), and she began her clamber into the bushes. Of course it was the bushes. Not helping, point in fact, was the hefty coat she refused to shed. The sun was barely up; it was too damn cold for this. The internal- yes, whiny, she could own up to that- monologue continued on until, in a lucky moment when she’d stopped moving to disentangle herself from a thorn, she heard a quiet _snap_.

Head lifting, she caught sight of something, something shifting ever so slightly in a clearing just up ahead. Leaning to the side, she finally saw Mr. E, the walking post, **Bog**.

She wasn’t ready for this.

Every encounter with the man had made her picture some gangly, awkward creature, all knees and elbows with a hell of a set of lungs holding it together. He was leering, and uncomfortable, and just so generally far from any image of handsome she could conjure. But now…

He was wearing drab enough colours that he almost seemed to blend into the foliage, the muddy tones welcoming him. Even his hair seemed to match the falling leaves and bark, a strange brown that fought between highlights and chestnut. The only real colour to him was a long scarf, shot through with a faded red and looped twice around his neck. Crouching on the ground, he held what seemed a tiny camera, and it would have been laughable if not for the way he skillfully moved fingers over it, adjusting settings and focusing seemingly without thought. He had a paper square gently clasped in his teeth, whatever it was worthy enough that he’d drawn his lips back slightly to avoid moisture touching it. As he carefully- and silently- moved to his feet, hair catching the new sunlight and turning almost amber at points, the camera raised and that tiny _snap_ went again. Surprisingly, the little thing fed out another square, which she was just realizing was a photograph, which he observed for a moment.

He must have liked what he saw, because he laughed quietly and smiled- _smiled!_ \- which, oddly, wasn’t… Unattractive at all. No, as he lifted his head and looked about, somewhere to her left, that small smile still in place in his little private moment… Like fates were against her, the sun fully crested his little clearing and he looked up into it, eyes suddenly as blue as a clear summer day, shadows banishing from his sharp cheekbones. A defined face, to be sure, but not hideous, not in the slightest. He groaned suddenly, hand reaching for his neck and pushing, the crack clearly audible, and it scared her.

She didn’t like to admit it, but she jumped.

Head whipping faster than a snake’s, he was staring at her, and those blue eyes froze her on the spot. A count, then another, and his hand raised without a word.

_Snap_

She gaped at him, jaw working to get out a sound, any sound, until she watched him slowly and victoriously removed the print. “H-hey! What right do you- give it here!” He’d taken his eyes from hers, peering down at the small photo contemplatively.

“No.”

”I’m sorry, what?”

”I’m going to keep it. Perhaps I can send it to the Zoological Association and they can tell me what kind of feral feline- or is it dragon?- is wandering around on campus.” His eyes flicked very briefly over her, and she didn’t miss they was they skated over her body. “Apparently one that likes ridiculous coats.”

Her face washed red, and she knew he could see it clear as day. “Maybe I should get a picture of _you_ , see if they can tell me where **ogres originated from!”**

And now it was his turn to sputter, brows dropping low to negate the sudden high pitch to his voice. “ _Ogre?!_ Oh- _ooh_ you think you’re so **clever** , do ye? Mock th’ Scottish man for his accent? You know what, you tiny, crazy anklebiter?” He looped the camera strap over his head, tucking the offensive picture into the print slot, and hung the lot on a high tree branch. “Hah! Nothin’ a wee flower like-“

And she flew at him, hands scrabbling for purchase as she attempted to use his body as a ladder. Either he was waiting for that, or he was just used to being attacked regularly because it only took him a half second to catch her wrist in an iron grip. One restraint not enough to stop her, she managed a sidestep before throwing her weight bodily forward. His shocked yelp was fuel enough, and she kicked his legs out. He went down, and she remembered with a jolt- literally- that he was still holding her. Agile enough for a beanpole, he managed to roll out of the fall, letting go of her wrist as his foot planted on her shoulder and _shoved_. Almost cackling with glee now, the adrenaline seemed to slow time enough for her to meet those clear blue eyes of his before she moved.

She writhed like the wildcat he accused her of being, back arching into the force of the kick until hands hooked behind a knee. There was a glimmer of shock in his eyes as she suddenly yanked, jerking his body forward as he instinctively bent the seized leg. A little too into it now, she met his body with a sharp elbow, his grunt almost in her ear at this point. If he had any concerns about hitting a woman, they were cast aside when he grabbed her upper arm and forced it backward. She craned her neck, saw the spark of excitement, of _joy_ on his face.

It might even hurt to end it now. Might.

Shifting her weight onto one knee and sinking her chest toward the ground, she swung her free leg in an arc, connecting firmly with a shocked Bog’s jaw, pushing until he was flat on the ground with her hovering above, arm crossed over his chest but he unable to extort the hold he had. Mercy to her, she’d gone for the side of his face not already bruised, but it seemed like it had been more than enough to stun him. It was a bit tricky, but she managed to move her weighted knee onto his chest. His yelp of shock, so very accented it had her grinning more, was enough of a distraction to rip her arm free of his hold. Again she grabbed his wrists, leaning across his chest so she could pin them both above his head.

”Not a thing I can do, huh?”

And it didn’t come out as cool as she wanted, her breathing ragged and chest heaving. Nonetheless, he grinned sharply at her, eyes flickering over her face.

”I stand corrected, Tough Girl.”

Her grin was feral then, proud of herself, and within good reason. The guy could easily be twice her weight, and if he could move her he certainly wasn’t trying to.

”Yeah, you’ve gotta- **Whoa** sorry guys! Jesus, um-“ Marianne jolted, her knee slipping and sinking into Bog’s stomach as she rolled away, leaving him groaning and curling to the side. The two guys, accidental trespassers, were waving hands and backing away from the clearing at near-inhuman speeds. She realized then how it must have looked, her perched atop him, hands over his head… Had her face really been that close to his?! Holding her hands to her cheeks, she firmly pushed to the point of discomfort. It hurt, but that’s what she got for losing her head like that! Whipping around, she caught him just as he was straightening, and he quickly held a hand up.

”Okay, okay! Ah concede, ye crazy wench! It’s yours!” Crawling to his feet, one hand still pressed to his belly, he grabbed for the strap, setting it in his mouth so he could have a free hand to snag the print. Holding it out, and then waving it around with a raised brow when she did nothing. Biting her lip, she stepped forward and instead took the camera strap, one hand on either side of his sharp jaw, until he got the message and released it. Looking confused, and a bit awkward, he took a step back and cleared his throat. The picture, once waving arrogantly, now sat nestled in a fidgety hand. “I’m trying to make ye a truce.”

”Actually, I owe you. Yeah.” Tucking a clump of mussed hair behind an ear, she decided watching the toe of her shoe dig into the dirt was more interesting than his face. “For, you _know_ , keeping an eye out on my sister, and-” Yep, that dirt was really something, “throwing my ex-boyfriend out of the building…”

She wasn’t sure if he caught the last part, mumbled and fast as it was, and she considered just playing it off. A sharp inhale said no, and she saw his hand tighten on the picture. A moment of just bird chirping, stupid little buzzy insects going about. “By my count then, Tough Girl, you owe me twice over. Once for th’ bodyguard service, once for siccin’ a dragon on a man jus’ trying to help a wee Princess.” She shot him a glare, saw him hold up a hand again, and toned down the look. He glanced at his prize, looked at her, and then decisively flipped the picture between two fingers, extending it towards her. “How about I give y’this picture, we call an official truce, an’ I turn in one favour by askin’ the name of such a- _unique_ \- dragon?”

It was stupid, she hated that word, but- he was looking at her, and she could see a glimpse of that gentler smile, the one he’d had when he looked at the picture. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was some insight there she was missing, like she herself were looking through a camera with the wrong filter on. Her shoulders relaxed, and she held hands to him, one to take the picture, the other to shake, and watched with interest as his own engulfed hers. “Uh, Marianne. I’m Marianne.” She dropped his hand, pulling it back to rub absently. He looked slightly awkward from their prolonged handshake as well, and she used it to bolster her confidence. “And you’re Bog, I’ve heard all about you. C’mon, it’s still ungodly early, and I have mouths to feed.” A glance at his stomach, one hand still cautiously resting there and pushing against the light sweater, showing just how thin he was, she added, “and you’re welcome to join, free of charge.”

”By all means then, _Marianne_ , lead the way.” And this was a proper smile, still small but real, as he made a grand gesture for her to walk ahead.

And damned if those were butterflies tickling away at her stomach.

###### 

This turned out long. So long. And here I am, still in costume, as I desperately try to post a chapter before the chaos that is Hallowe’en.

And a very happy Hallowe’en to everyone! Have fun, wait for the day after to buy candy, dress up crazy!

On writer-y notes, I’m gonna respond to comments in the next chapter. I realize I can just respond to you properly, but the ol’ Fanfiction days still hit hard and it’s become the norm to do shout outs on the story. I do apologize! Also, I took a risk because I wanted a story where Marianne is the first one to be like, well shit son, because Bog is a little sweetie and deserves some recognition.

This story is haunting me and I have so many little scenarios popping up at random. I have decided two things; first, this story won’t involve the parents too much. Don’t be dispirited! I love me some parent/child interactions, which brings me to point two. This story is going to be completed in two parts. Part one is the couple, part two is everyone else. Right then! I must sleep so I may work in the morning! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I realize it’s one of the weaker ones thus far. Just very long… Good night to all, see you soon!


	6. Hashing It Out

# Hashing It Out

It was obvious, from the way Marianne moved around the communal kitchen, that she was more than familiar with the room. She’d whip open cupboards, yanking out paper towels from one and soap from another, and set herself upon the place like a tiny cleaning hurricane. She knew where cutting boards were (though he was confused as to why they were there in the first place, he remembered the room being devoid of cookery on Orientation), and she only left the room long enough to fetch food and supplies from her own dorm. He would never realize it, but her busybody ways were an exact replica of the all the times she’d stood here, mind on his very self.

There were catches in her movements sometimes, and he was observant enough to see them, when she’d be cutting something and her hand would freeze or a pot that was being stirred would be pulled off the heat with a sound of dismay. Each time she did this, she’d snap back with a small, frantic fluttering of whatever hand was free, mutter under her breath, and firmly tell him to ‘sit your ass back down’ when he got up to assist. It led to him folded, rather awkwardly due to his tall frame, in a generic chair, hands clasped between his thighs to keep from fidgeting.

”Oh, shoot, I need to wake up Dawn and Sunny. Hold the fort, will you, you smelly ogre?” He lifted his head to glower at her, but she seemed undeterred by his sullen glare. Rolling his eyes, he straightened out with a neck-crack before nodding. She stared at him a moment longer, face strangely blank, before coughing and turning on her heel with an _impressive_ pace.

Observing the slowly-closing kitchen door, he swivelled back to look at the abandoned cutting board. A heap of onions lay diced to the side, thankfully not the strong types his mother favoured. He didn’t fancy tearing up in front of the vicious little spitfire, after all. She’d started cutting peppers, the red and orange pile pitifully small next to the heap of onion. Glancing once more at the door, he slipped his way to the sink to wash, eyes never leaving the produce and gleaming knife beside it. He really didn’t do well with sitting around doing nothing…

The knife felt strange in hand; he didn’t do a lot of cooking, other than your typical boil-water-and-pour method. Knife skills were certainly not in his small list of actually useful traits. Still, helping would be better than hunching over doing nothing. The first slice was awkward, had him readjusting his grip on the handle with fingers seemingly overlong for the task. Grunting quietly in irritation, he shifted his stance and shakily cut a few strips off the bright red pepper. With any luck, that would be the only red on the board today.

He made it through an entire section, the pieces nowhere near as uniform as Marianne’s, when a hand snaked along his wrist and caught the knife. He jumped, but her hand held the knife firmly away from his skin. “Sorry, didn’t want to say anything in case you freaked. You’ve got _quite_ the hold on that knife there.” He could hear it, the teasing tone in her voice, and he half turned to glare down at the little imp in challenge.

”Oh, and how would _you_ suggest Ah hold this, then?” And her eyes lit up, the chance to teach someone making excitement shine. She shifted behind him, and he suddenly became aware of how close she’d moved. Her chest was nearly touching his back, for heaven’s sake! The hand holding the knife slid back to his wrist, and he focused on that instead of her warmth.

”Okay, see that chunk of metal, right at the base of the blade? That’s the bolster. What you’re gonna do-“ She guided his index and thumb, placing them just above the bolster until they were pinching the actual blade. “There you go, now relax your index… Let it follow the edge of the bolster, don’t hold it like you would grab at a pencil, geez. Now, arrange the rest of your fingers comfortably, let your middle finger press against the opposite side of the bolster now… There! Pretty good! Still a bit awkward, but we’ll work on that.”

And he was awkward, her body moving closer in excitement and passion. She was jabbering at him to move, give it a go, and he cautiously took the top off the next pepper. It did feel better, a little less wobbly, but that still didn’t make the girl now pressed to his back ease off. She guided him through breaking it down, seeds actually not going everywhere due to her very precise and bossy instructions. He felt a smile, a _tiny_ one, nudge at his mouth at the success. Half turning, still essentially trapped at the counter by her, he let the smile grow a bit. She looked back, surprise flickering at him before she grinned happily. He opened his mouth, about to offer gratitude-

-and Dawn walked in.

Whatever the blonde had been saying died immediately at the sight of him and her sister, hands fluttering to her mouth in shock. The door, her reaction, the reminder that Marianne was still _so close_ \- he jolted. Jolted and, with a yelp, dropped the knife to the counter as he snatched for his bleeding hand.

”Oh crap, hang on! Keep holding it, over to the sink. Let me see, if it’s bad we’re taking you to the hospital. I’m _sorry_ , Bog.” Pain or no he still felt a flutter at her earnest worry, the use of his name aside. The fact that this was the woman who’d punched him was actually amusing, what with how her hands danced over his own in concern. He was thankful she wasn’t squeamish, because to him there was a good deal of blood happening. At some point Dawn had fetched a first aid kit, and Marianne deftly snapped on a glove before grabbing his hand. Keeping pressure, she released only long enough to get a decent look at the cut before squeezing down again. “It’s not too bad, we’ll get you patched up. Don't worry too much, hands bleed a lot. You'll be right as rain, I keep my knives sharp. You won't even get a scar for your collection.”

A chair was pushed behind him, knocking him in the back of the legs hard enough that he sat heavily, even as his good hand rubbed self-consciously at his scarred jaw. She held his hand over the sink still, seeming to forget the fact that he was a person as she absorbed herself in plastering the wound, hip bumping against his shoulder as she gave the abused digit a satisfied nod. It didn’t take long, but he found himself staring wide-eyed at her for the duration of it. Most people weren’t so eager to help him.

Then again, he didn’t give them much reason to.

"Going to be okay, Oh Mighty Bog?"

Dawn once again appeared at their side, smiling slightly as she handed him something. Staring blankly and still slightly reeling over Marianne's comfortable jibe and touching concern, it took him a moment to realize she’d given him a cookie. _A cookie._ Marianne grabbed his face, staring straight into his eyes- _he couldn’t even respond to her worried question-_ before she deemed him well enough.

”Okay, that’s enough kitchen adventures today, huh?” And she almost snorted a laugh, grinning down at him with her hands on her hips. “You stay put; I still owe you food, and you’re now an injured party.” He was moved to sit at the table in the room, the only other furnishing save the counters and stove, where he noticed a young man. Said young man gave him an uncomfortable little wave. As no words were exchanged, Bog was quick to mentally dismiss him so he could focus on suddenly being accosted by Dawn, her eyes comically watery as she pulled his head to her shoulder.

“Poor Boggy! Are you okay?”

He snarled “Bog!” before he saw Marianne look over her shoulder, grin broad and teasing as she dumped potatoes into a skillet. She raised an eyebrow at him, and at his continued glare rolled her eyes. Her eyes flicked above him, presumably to look at her sister, and her brow furrowed before eyebrows suddenly shot up, the look one of barely-restrained annoyance and embarrassment. He felt more than heard Dawn giggle, and decided he really didn’t want to know what just happened.

Dawn did eventually leave him be, fluttering over to the darker boy and hanging off him instead. She perked every time a guy walked by, visible through the glass kitchen door, and more than once a rampant wink had one poking his head in. Of course Marianne, ever the dragon, chased them out with curses of not sharing her hard-cooked meal. If he subtly took a picture of her waving a spoon at a young man with curly red hair, no one was the wiser. Dawn huffed, rolling her eyes and grabbing the as-of-yet unintroduced boy with her. “You’re _such_ a killjoy, Marianne. We’re gonna go back to the room!” And with a dainty little foot stomp and a flip of wild, poofy blonde hair they were off, one more tiny wave coming from the boy, the full extent of their interaction wordless.

Unsubtly, he could see Dawn whip her phone out before the door even closed fully, and it didn’t take much to connect that sight with the sound of Marianne’s buzzing cell. The brunette glared at the door before swiping the phone, and as soon as she swiped the screen her face bloomed brilliant red. Tossing the phone with far less care than he would have given it, she grabbed a grater and set to viciously slashing cheese across it.

Speaking of phones, he felt a bubble of anticipation as he started digging through his pockets, already having a feeling what he was going to find. It was Sunday, which could only mean one thing; the screen blinked to life and confirmed his fear.

Four missed calls, seventeen texts.

The cookie, untouched, ended up on the table as he held both hands on the phone, a bracer more than stability or worry that the damn thing would attempt to fly free again. He understood his mother worried about him, but she was admittedly overbearing. It was a little bit ridiculous, to be calling him so much when she was all the way in Scotland. He’d come to America to get away from her nagging, not escalate it.

Pulling a thin lip between his teeth, he contemplated the rather serious matter at hand. He had to call her back immediately, that was obvious. Otherwise she’d just keep calling until his phone died, and then she would immediately book a flight to ensure he hadn’t somehow gotten himself killed. No, the issue wasn’t whether or not to call her now. The issue was whether or not he should step out of the kitchen to do it. If he did, he’d have to explain to Marianne why he was leaving when she was working so hard to cook something for someone like him, and he desperately didn't want to hurt her feelings. She already seemed nervous enough to be feeding him. But if he stayed, she’d hear his every word. And most likely his mother’s as well.

His decision was forced when the phone violently buzzed in his hand, the screen ominously flashing _Mum_. He fumbled wildly, the sharp movements catching the attention of the lovely cook in the room as he made some rather spectacular attempts to save the hopping phone from hitting the floor. It jumped out of his long fingers at least a half dozen times before he grasped it, instinctively swiping the screen even as his body froze at the realization of what that meant. A horrified glance at Marianne- yep, she was still staring blatantly- and his mother’s voice screeched through the phone. Even at the small distance he could hear the indignation in her voice, a forewarning of the scolding to come.

He didn’t move, staring at Marianne with a mouth slightly agape until her eyebrow slowly arched, eyes flicking to the device in his hand. Snapping his jaw closed audibly and swallowing, he lifted the device to his ear, the one closest to her so he could at least try to use it to hide behind. “No, no, Ah’m here, please stop shoutin’…” But his mother was quite angry, scolding him for worrying and treading on her dear heart by not calling already and why didn't he _love her_ and his hand raised to pinch the bridge of his nose- “M’ sorry, Ah promise Ah’m okay, mother.” –and saw Marianne whip around to the counter as though turning her back would make her deaf to the conversation.

She at least calmed down enough to scold him without the volume, and he found himself slouching back into the chair as his face flooded with heat. “Listen, mum, Ah’m sorry Ah missed yer call, had things t’do this mornin’. Jus’ about t’eat breakfast, actually.” If anything would make her hang up faster, it was that. She knew better than he did how unhealthy his eating habits usually were. He certainly hadn’t gotten so thin by force of will.

Of course, predictable as she was, it worked like a charm. “Oh to think my little boy’s eating all on his own! You go eat lots, take a picture and show me, you know how I worry! And if you’re out for breakfast you make sure you smile at any girl eating alone! You’re as handsome as your father, and you never know! She could be the one! All right, Sweetie, I’ll hang up now! I love you!”

And his body slouched further, phone switching to the other ear and hand covering the side of his face visible to Marianne. “Yeh, of course Ah'll take a _picture_ , mum. Pr'mise ta call ya later. Ah, er- Ah luv ya too.” And it was murmured but clear, and he imagined he could feel Marianne’s eyes on him. How delightfully perfect.

He dropped the call, letting his arm fall to his side as he slowly rubbed at his face. The kitchen was quiet for almost a minute before he felt a hand on his shoulder, a _clink_ in front of him. Opening an eye, he saw a plate of steaming food, her face hanging just in view with a slight smile. “Eat while it’s hot, and don’t forget to take a picture for your mom.”

Glaring at her, he crossed his arms and looked away, sticking to sullen since he couldn’t justify shouting at the woman who just made him such amazing-smelling food. It looked amazing, too, chunks of potato sautéed with sausage, onion, peppers, and what looked like scrambled eggs mixed in, all of it coated with cheese that was oozing and probably at the most perfect stringy stage. He made no move to touch it, though, and her shoulders slumped a tad.

”Hey, I think it’s sweet she worries so much for you.” She took a seat at the cheap card table, leaning a cheek on her propped hand. “My mom died years ago, so I’m not going to tease you for loving yours. Well, not too much. Did you know your accent goes crazy when you talk on the phone?” Snatching the cookie, she set about nibbling at it whilst watching him overtop like some kind of adorable squirrel.

He scoffed quietly, glare dissolving. “It’s just my mother. She’s back in Scotland, an’ I guess I jus’ fall back into old habits.” Sliding the plate slowly closer, he glanced up and met her bright eyes. “Sorry about yours though. Yer, ah, mother. Sorry.” And he was fidgeting again, flipping his phone in his free hand anxiously. That hadn’t come out well at _all_.

But Marianne, unique girl that she was, just smiled at him reassuringly and finished the cookie off in one very unladylike bite. She seemed to contemplate as she chewed, looking around the kitchen for a moment. A quiet smile and those eyes were back on his. “It’ll never stop hurting, but I know how much she loved me, and I’ll never stop loving her. I think that’s the most we can ask for, huh?” She met his surprised blink with a smile, and he watched as her expression became one of stubborn determination. She reached and slid his bowl away again, pulling her phone out and snapping a hasty picture. She nudged it back, eyes fixated on the phone as her face tinged a soft, pretty pink. “So, I’ll need your number if you want the picture. Gotta let your mom know you’re eating, right?” Her eyes only flicked up a few times, and he watched in fascination as she chewed at her lip.

Perhaps he should have been more embarrassed that she’d heard his mother’s side of the conversation as well, but he moreso felt a blossom of warmth at her none too subtle hint. He reached, hand catching her phone as much as her hand, before he took it from her with a small smile. It took little time to open her contacts, put his own name in, and that feeling of warmth seemed to spread throughout his entire chest as the smile stayed affixed.

Moreso to break the awkward moment, he hit the ‘ok’ button with a grand, dramatic flourish, pride swelling at her snorted laugh. Her phone vibrated in his hand, and his eyes skimmed the message before he could help it. Eyebrow jerking up, he raised his eyes to hers.

”What’s this about Dawn asking if we’re datin’ yet?”

###### 

Oh no guys, we’re hitting two days between updates now! What blasphemy is this. Sorry, this chapter feels a bit awkward to me but I did need to get some awkward interaction first and foremost. So many cute moments in my mind that can only be done once they’re at least acquainted!

Until next chapter, then! Have a good one guys, and happy November, eh!


	7. Out Of The Frying Pan...

# Out Of The Frying Pan... 

Swapping numbers was, it seemed, the key for them to start some kind of awkward dance. Was it love? Both of them snarled at the question if asked, even if they couldn't actually meet the others' eye for a good five minutes after. If you asked Dawn, she would say yes, yes it was. That, and a hefty dose of stupidity, of course.

Their class schedules were entirely different, so they took whatever chances they could to see each other. She had three days a week she was cooking in class, not to mention the one long and gruelling day of lectures and accounting classes and horrible, shudder-worthy mathematics. He had multiple long field trips to take, himself and the rest of the photography students herded out to random locations for unique nature shots. After that, he would spend hours hunched over a darkroom table, tiny q-tip clenched as tightly as his teeth as he painstakingly swiped bleaching agents over whatever print was due for assignment.

On days that required him to be up earlier, Bog would find himself in the kitchen, a stovetop kettle whistling as he prepared an old coffee press. Marianne had teased him mercilessly when the equipment had arrived via airmail at the first sign of long-term cold weather. He had endured the teasing in silence, going about a routine he'd watched his father do so often in his youth, and handed her a cup of the final product. After that first sip, she'd never said another word about it.

Once a week, when their morning schedules were as close to lined up as possible, he'd make an extra cup and with the reliability of clockwork lean out the kitchen door in time for a rushing Marianne. She'd stop her mad sprint, flash him her brightest, heart-skipping smile, and take off with the coffee, mug and all. And when the following day had him staying late for weekly studio displays, she'd be tapping at his dorm with a plate of steaming food. As the door would close, he'd settle down with his plate and wait for the inevitable food picture she'd taken a love to. She'd claimed since she didn't have his mother's number she'd just supply the images to be forwarded, simple things to abate her.

Dawn joined them some almost every weekend that October, Sunny often accompanying. The dark-skinned boy had no faith in the innocent sister taking an hour-long bus commute on her own. Dawn may have fussed with him over that, but in the end she never refused his offer. On the weekends that it was the four of them, Marianne spearheaded the task of commandeering a common room. The residence had a scant handful of them, equipped with pool tables or air hockey or the holy grail of a television and DVD player. She and Bog would carry every scrap of bedding, every pillow they could find, and build perfect little nests whilst the other two ran around town grabbing food and snacks. By the time they returned, there was almost always some kind of fight happening, Bog pinning Marianne, Marianne tackling Bog. Sometimes Steph or Thane would be present, manning a camera, and when they weren't Sunny was more than happy to take up the blackmailing task.

As October crept by, it was easy to fall into a comfortable, relaxed state of mind.

###### 

Dawn stared skeptically at her sister's dorm door, glancing down at Sunny with an exaggerated eye roll. "I've still got 20 on the 7th of November."

Sunny snorted, rubbing a hand through his spiked hair. "I still say you lose, and I still refuse to take my 20 off Hallowe'en. I mean, they're singing a duet together, and a lot can happen in two days." Dawn snorted, giving her head a shake and raising a hand to bang at the door. 'Slaughter Your World' cut off immediately, replaced by loud laughter and scuffling sounds. Thuds echoed, and Dawn would have been slightly embarrassed by the thought of what they could be up to were it anyone but her sister and Bog. No, she instead rolled her eyes and debated taking bets with Sunny on who would win the fight de jour. After another knock that resulted with only more laughter and booming thuds, she groaned and dropped her head on Sunny's shoulder with a whimper.

"It's so painful to watch, tell me when it's safe to look." Sunny absently patted her back, starting when the door opened and Bog's flushed face was staring down at him. His hand froze on her back and he swallowed nervously.

"Hey, uh, looking... good up there? Man, you always make me feel like I'm _shrinking_ or something." The look Bog gave him was torn between amused and deadly. He'd been overly protective of Dawn when he saw just how much of the duty Marianne tried to take on. When she called him out on the new-found brotherly instincts, he'd blithely told her he was just worried that her itty body couldn't support all the weight of responsibility. Sunny's saving grace for that particular day was that he'd taken Bog's side on that fight, which had endeared him to the man slightly. That is to say, he hadn't been threatened openly yet. That didn't change his current situation, Dawn all but draped over his shoulder and his hand on her back in what could be taken as a possessive manner as Bog studied them suspiciously.

Marianne poked her head around his this body, grinning widely and breaking the unintentional stare-down. "Don't worry Sunny, you're not shrinking. This guy just likes doing his best impression of a lamp post. On special occasions, if you crane your neck and look _reeeaaaally_ high up there, you can see the light of an idea. Oh, you should ask him how the weather is up there! He loves that question."

Bog huffed, hooked a leg behind her and twirled her forward before long fingers spanned her waist. Without warning he hefted her up, higher than his own head as he quirked a sardonic brow. "Ah know the air's much thinner than yer used to _way up there_ , but maybe now ye can tell 'im yerself what it's like."

She peered down at him, unimpressed face one for the records (and camera sadly out of reach) before she raised her hands, clawed her fingers, and hissed.

Dawn quietly groaned again, head having turned to peek before she buried it back into Sunny's shoulder. Her mutter was meant only for him, whispered directly into his ear. "How do they not _know_? They're such _losers_."

"They'll figure it out sooner rather than later, and you'll be twenty dollars lighter."

The older pair had disintegrated into a twisted and violent version of a tickle fight, Bog giving up first and bolting from the room. Marianne took off after him, laughing like a mad woman as they headed (hopefully) to the common room. How long it would take the pair to get there was an unknown, and Dawn took the unexpected alone time to shyly smile at her companion. He blushed, lacing his fingers gently through hers.

"Let's see how long it takes them to figure _us_ out."

###### 

An hour later all four were finally sprawled across the sea of blankets, popcorn being consumed (and tossed) as, of all things, cocktails were being discussed. Dawn had started it, her 19th birthday just behind her and curiosity digging deep. Her three confidantes all had very different opinions, and it was Marianne who had the floor.

"Just steer clear of scotch and whiskey, it's basically floor cleaner. Trust me you, nothing is gonna get that taste out of your mouth."

"Oh, does this dragon fear th' burn of a real glass a' booze? Gonna drink yer cute l'il sugar fixes?" Bog's grin was teasing and his voice light and fluted, shoving Marianne's shoulder in jest. When she returned the gesture with a hard pinch to his arm and a miserable glare, his jaw dropped open.

"Hah, I am right! Ye've got a sweet tooth, don'cha! Little sweet-tooth fairy!" His eyes widened almost comically, turning to look at her in mock-surprise. " _Unless_... Are you the _real_ tooth fairy? Is that why ye collect teeth, ta replace the ones you rot outta yer head with all that sugar?" He managed the aghast face for all of four seconds before her glare broke him. He barked a laugh, which evolved into a full-blown, body shaking session.

She reacted, leaning over and punching his shoulder hard enough that he tipped to the side. It didn't stop his cackling, though. Indignantly she sat straight, eyes ablaze and chest puffed out. "Would a _fairy_ hit like that?!"

Wiping a stray tear, still shaking, he made weak eye contact. "Tha' depends. Do ye get commission per tooth?"

This sent him into fresh peals of laughter, not helped by the fact that the other pair in the room had joined in. She swiped, but he unexpectedly and highly effectively swatted her hand with the free arm not wrapped around his middle. Her eyes narrowed. This battle would require a different tactic to win. A dirty one.

His body froze completely at the shutter- _click_ sound, eyes wide as his head slowly turned to stare at her. "Marianne, _no_!"

Her response was a smile, as sweet as sugar, as she happily tapped the 'send' on his phone. "Well, Steph did say she needed help keeping an eye on you for your mother."

Ignoring the roar of laughter from the others he made a fast grab for her, phone and all. She, most unlucky, was too busy laughing to fight back, and it resulted in him snapping more than one cell photo of them rolling about as she screamed in delight. "Ye wan'ta play with fire, Tough Girl? Jus' remember tha' you brought this on yerself." The last photo had them sprawled on the blankets, shot angled up so Dawn and Sunny were just visible in frame, and with only a mild shudder of apprehension Bog hit 'send', the picture appearing right below his own laughing image on-screen for his mother to see.

If Marianne wanted to be a fierce little dragon, let her take on the fury that was his mother. He'd be collateral, true enough, but she'd brought this on herself.

###### 

The problem with wrestling around on the ground in a room full of bedding was that it got very hot, very fast. Adding the fact that the other pair had thrown on _Love Actually_ had Bog rolling out of his nest with a groan. Already feeling stifled, he glanced at Marianne enough to confirm her look of desperation- they were running. It hadn't taken much to escape Sunny and Dawn, the pair curled up and talking about _romance_ and _true love_ , so they had slowed their dash to a walk, heading for the clean, cold air of the evening. And it was quite cold, now that they were out in it, and Bog regretted not grabbing a jacket- or a blanket. Remembering that the woman beside him was just little, he glanced down at her and was awarded with a convulsing shiver. She glared at the setting sun, as though that power alone would make it cast more heat. All it did was make her blink rapidly, nose running and cheeks flushed in the light. He couldn't help it, arm raising as he snapped a picture of her miserable state.

A punch put him back in line and he did the _normal_ human thing and put his arm around her for warmth.

The wave of heat that spilled in his chest was alarming, something he desperately didn't want to identify, and with an appreciative timing she bumped her hip against his and peered up at him. "What's up with the pictures, by the way? I mean, don't take it the wrong way, you're a great photographer, but to _always_ have a camera on your person?"

He pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore the curious (and hopefully not judgemental) eyes. It wasn't an easy thing to word, and after a serious internal fight for word choice he found his mouth just opening and spewing the information at random. His voice was soft, almost without the accent when he finally replied. "When you take a picture, Ah guess you're just... seeing things in a way no one ever has before. Even if someone's standing righ' next to you, they're never going to see how light angles or things move or- or how beautiful something simple can be, not exactly." He'd spared a side-glance at her, the nerves coming back strong. "It's, eh, it's somethin' tha's yers and yers alone, somethin' that can never be copied again." Coughing awkwardly, he glanced away into the coming night. "B'sides, no one takes pictures o' the guy with the camera. Does much better f'their gear, too; this hideous mug isn't crackin' any lenses, because we all know Ah'm no' nice enuff ta replace 'em an-" his rambling was cut off by her hand laying across his cheek, angling his face towards her.

His breath caught, thankfully quiet enough that she didn't seem to notice it. _He_ barely noticed it, so focused on the warmth of her hand, the way her thumb almost brushed the corner of his mouth, her pinky just tickling the edges of his hair. Somehow she'd turned just so, falling perfectly into the dying light, her eyes so bright and lit and heating him deep down, in his very soul. Her lip was worried between her teeth, no sarcasm on her face as her eyes flitted over his. "You're not hideous, Bog. Not at all." Her voice was soft, almost whispered like a secret and so out of character but still fitting to _her_.

The sun cast its final rays, flaring over her face as she smiled at him. He would have given anything to record her in that moment, how perfect she was, to remember this for as long as he lived and not let the image be tainted by the passage of time. Something was happening here, a tightness in his chest and a shortness of breath and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. He'd rather run out of air than look away now.

The loud, unimaginative beep of his phone had him jerk in surprise, lungs reminding him that no matter what stupid revelation he was having, _they needed air, thank you_ , and he covered the deep inhale with fishing his phone out. Marianne had spun around, already walking once more, and he slowly ambled after her as he unlocked the screen.

**Mum: You better be bringing her for the holidays, and there better be romantic candlelit dates in the future**

Watching her walk ahead, hips swaying slightly and hand ruining her already messy hair, he realized he wouldn't mind if his mother was right.

**Mum: If she's not here I'm sending baby photos to the school newsletter**

With a groan he clicked the phone off, jogging to catch up to Marianne. She glanced back at him, looking relaxed if not shy, and he decided that even if it kept him a step behind her for the rest of his life, he'd gladly follow wherever she went.

###### 

I wrote this on a borrowed tablet so I apologize for any crazy typos! I get my darling computer back tomorrow so there won't be any delays in my **horribly slow** update times. Also 300 hits squeeee!

As some may have noticed, there is now a chapter count! There's gonna be Hallowe'en, Roland, and then our lovely finale. As I mentioned once before, it's looking like there's going to be a far more family-involved sequel. Thank you everyone for the kudos and reviews, it's been absolutely amazing so far!


	8. Sugar and Spice

# Sugar and Spice

###### 

Dawn’s chin was set on her desk, eyes mostly closed as the flicked her pencil away from her nose. The slant of the desk had it rolling back, bumping her nose and setting the cycle in motion for the umpteenth time. Normally she’d be texting Sunny, but there was a problem with having your father on Facebook and posting pictures of you and your boyfriend kissing. She’d had her phone taken away, and her freedom as well. She felt it was silly, to keep a young woman such as herself locked away, and on _Hallowe’en night_ to boot.

So now- phoneless, freedomless, lifeless- she was just stuck in an endless loop that was only broken by the ocassional pout and glare at the closed bedroom door. She was supposed to be writing her father an **apology letter** , the penalty, he had said, for not informing her of such large life decisions. Personally she thought it was because he had a not-so-secret list of well-off young men he’d wanted her to meet. Okay, it was supposed to be a secret and it was totally hidden away in a desk drawer but she had found it and that made it fair game. She was more than a little angry at his weak attempt to meddle. Naturally, she’d told Marianne, who had promised to burn the list the moment she came home fo Christmas break.

She pushed the pencil a little too hard at the irriatating train of thought, listening to it clatter to the floor with a sigh. She was lacking way too much motivation to actually move and grab it, which left her with the option of laying there, probably until she fell asleep . She’d probably drool all over the paper, and wouldn’t that be a perfect ‘letter’ to hand to her father!

The pencil clattered again, and then once more before she stopped to wonder how it could possibly be doing that. Tilting her head upside-down confirmed the pencil still lay where it had dropped, nestled amoung fallen comrades and certainly not able to make strange litte noises. She sat straight, brow furrowed in confusion when the **clack** sounded again. Big blue eyes went to the window, and she snuck a cautious look out into the yard.

Sunny was hiding behind the perfectly trimmed hedges, waving excitedly when he saw her finally peek. A little mischievous grin slid onto his face, visible even from above, as he pointedly lobbed another small rock, dropping dramatically to his knee and pantomiming a rather famous Shakespearean line. She snorted, opening her window to lean out and whisper-shout down. “What doth thee wish of me, O Brave Sunny?”

”Oh, he jus’ wishes not ta get caught is all, Princess.” She squeaked and jumped nearly a foot and a half at the sudden appearance of a Scot clinging outside her second-storey window. To be fair, the house was old and ornate and had plenty of little nooks and crannies that narrow hands and feet could possibly fit into, but for him to have actually _climbed_ all the way up?! Bog grinned wickedly, and even Sunny’s grin was a visible match from up high. “So, are ye comin’, or are ye too afraid to take th’ leap?”

Looking at his outstretched hand, then back at the blank piece of paper and closed door, she firmly grabbed hold and was immediately shocked to be yanked over his shoulder. He made quick work of the descent, hushing her through quiet laughter all the way. Hitting the ground at a light jog, not nearly enough to jostle her, he let a long stride tear him across the yard as Sunny struggled to keep up. They cleared the hedges with none the wiser, and Dawn was through with being shocked when she saw Marianne’s little blue Prius idling just around a bend. Marianne was visible, cackling from the front seat with one of Bog’s cameras in hand. It was a tight fit, Bog tossing her in the back seat before folding his long body into the front beside Marianne. Sunny barely had time to jump in, door still swinging open as the car started moving. With Sunny struggling to take care of that situation and the pair up front in fits, Dawn was having a hard time getting any solid answers from the group of kidnappees.

Marianne was the one to look back, the red of the stoplight she’d hissingly obeyed washing eerily over her dark makeup. Not helping was the half-feral grin still in place, nor when Bog’s sharp face joined hers, cheeks almost touching. Her eyes flicked back and forth in confusion, mildly unsettled by their matching (creeeepy) expressions. Marianna opened the center console without breaking eye contact, hand slowly raising with long strips of cardstock clutched fiercely. She yelped at an abrupt honk, the light now a cheerful green. Sunny snatched the papers as she twisted around and hit the gas, all four slamming against their seats with various grunts.

Peering at the papers over her boyfriend’s shoulder, Dawn’s eyes suddenly popped. “Are these tickets to Magic Amusement’s Nightmare Eve?! Oh. My god. Are we totally going to an amusement park for Hallowe’en?! Her hands balled up in an effort to contain her joy, but the high-pitched squeal couldn’t be held in.

###### 

It was chill when they got to the park, Sunny looping an arm around Dawn as the far more excited pair took to the front. It wasn’t hard to lose them in the crowd, Bog towering over everyone and making a beacon for lost group members. Added to that was Marianne using him as a personal lookout tower, hopping up onto his back to get a ‘near-aerial’ view of line-ups. There were shrieks weaving through the air, feeding out through the decorated gates, and all the excitement Dawn had initially felt was being replaced with anticipation. Nightmare Eve was their local amusement park’s way of sharing fright with the community; haunted houses and mazes were set up inside the park, and people merrily ran around in full, creepy costumes with the happy intent of scaring the living daylights out of guests. The rides were open still, which was a blessing since she didn’t think she could walk too many houses, but she also didn’t miss Sunny’s uncomfortable look at the looming track nearly above their heads. A car clacked its way up and dropped with a chorus of screams that had her clinging a little tighter to him, and vice versa.

”I can’t _wait_ to be up there!” If his grip was from fear over excitement, she graciously didn't point it out.

Sunny gulped, but couldn’t get a word in before Marianne came bounding back. “They’re letting people in now, let’s go!” She dragged them to the slender figure by the opening, only bumping into a handful of people which was a huge improvement to her normal body-slamming in crowded spaces. As soon as she hit Bog’s side, he smiled down at her with such a look that Dawn and Sunny shared a pained grimace.

Leaning close, Sunny nodded his head to them. “It is **so** gonna be tonight. Any last words before you fork over some cold, hard cash?”

”If they actually start dating tonight I swear I will eat an entire bowl of hot sauce. But they won’t, so I think I’ll just settled for you buying me something pretty tonight.” She giggled, pecking him on the lips only to be blinded by a flash. She screamed in alarm, blinking as she tried her hardest to glare (it was _so_ not adorable, stop with the look Marianne!) at Bog. “I forgot we had our own photographer tonight.” Her arms crossed with a sulk.

Bog paid no heed, too busy bent over to share the screen image with Marianne as she made a rather teasing comment about the ‘dynamic, crazy-high angle’. Sunny stepped up, face a perfect mask of concern and fear for his own well-being. “Wait. You guys aren’t- there’s not gonna be any bloodshed over this-“ His finger pointed between himself and Dawn, “Over us?”

Marianne nodded to Bog in thanks, opening the picture file she’d just had him send to her phone, if only to make sure the candid shot made it. Not even looking up over the photo file, she responded. “Are you kidding? We left you alone for like an hour with a romance movie and you guys were- what’s that word you used, Bog?- canoodling without a care. We had to go to the dark room until bedtime.” Casually she handed her ticket to the waiting attendant before glancing slyly over her shoulder. “Plus Dad told me.”

Dawn rolled her eyes at her sister, secretly glad she wasn’t freaking out. She’d probably hear it later, about how Marianne hadn’t even _been trusted_ with the secret, and the wince she gave was completely for her future scolding. She meekly handed her own ticket over with Sunny right behind, the only one to actually thank the worker as he caught her hand. “Well, at least we don’t have to dance around **us** anymore.”

Marianne didn’t hear the obvious implication, too busy skipping around and getting close to the first costumer of the evening. Bog, however, glared back at them with a bright blush working from his neck right to the very tips of his ears. He made a sharp zip-it motion before trotting after the excited woman, catching her arm before she could touch the make-up of a wandering clown.

It was strange, how the night turned out like an amalgamation of their hobbies, some kind of strange marriage that had her feeling warm and fuzzy. Bog’s love for pictures had manifested with nearly every roller coaster, cameras rigged on the tracks to shoot the terrified faces as they whipped by. They had a number of prints tucked securely away, and she knew she would be tacking more than a few to the fridge. Sunny, it turned out, was a tad afraid of heights, and so they only had one of him on the towering rides. His face was completely priceless, and she wasted no time taking a picture of the print and posting it online. The rest of the rides had forced them to compromise, though. Sunny agreed to hold their belongings (“and if the camera is damaged I _break you_ , boy”) whilst the other three loaded into the cars. Bog always ended up in the middle, and every single picture they bought had his hands both being firmly grasped by herself and Dawn.

They were expensive though, those prints, so Bog made sure he took more than enough pictures to cover the experience. Whenever she turned around he’d have his face glued to the viewfinder, and more than once the flash distracted them all from an actor creeping up behind them. She was only a little proud she’d been in the middle of playing with her phone and had caught a rare yelp from the tall man. _That_ particular picture was now her background, and he was none too pleased.

As for her love, her passion… Yes, she worked in fancy kitchens on the weekends. Okay, so she could make a stellar cassoulet with beans she’d shucked herself. Hell, she knew how to make croissants from scratch and she wasn’t even a pastry student. None of that, absolutely none of it, mattered when faced with faire food. All things greasy, and fried, and unhealthy and fattening and _cheap_ … She was a sucker for them all. She wasn’t proud to admit it, but she wasn’t going to hide it either.

Bog had commented, nose in the air, at the delightful smell in the air, and she’d seconded it with only a quick sniff to confirm her thoughts. She’d dragged the group to a stall that smelled so divine, already drooling at the thought of a piping hot funnel cake. The evening was _freezing_ , so the thought of fried sweet dough and warm strawberries was heavenly indeed. They’d already had to make a pit stop at a Starbucks located in the park, but the warmth of her cup was draining out and she was ready for something better.

As they were huddled together, she impulsively snapped a picture of them. It was a cute picture, no one posing for the shot and there was an underlying sweetness to it all. She was putting it online, smiling at the little details right before she posted it. True enough, her smile was a bit forced in the shot, but her eyes were alight, a sign for funnel cakes strategically glowing over her head like a demented food halo. Sunny and Dawn were huddled close, fingers entwined as she’d rested her head sleepily on his shoulder. The height difference only made the image cuter. Bog was staring intently at something, something akin to happiness on his face as he'd pressed his side to hers. The look was so odd in public place like this that she hit ‘okay’ and put the phone down to look at the real Bog. He was standing on his toes to peer intently, something she decided he never needed to do again- he was tall enough, thank you- but just as easily he swooped down and put a hand on her shoulder.

”M’rianne,” His accent was thick, excitement ringing in it, “they have a pum’kin spice fried cake.”

She stared at him before her eyes flicked to his Starbucks cup, the ‘PSL’ clear in the stall’s lights. She could actually smell the cinnamon and pumpkin spice in the latte from where she stood. Dragging her eyes back to his, the excitement not at all dwindled, she rubbed her forehead and nodded weakly. “Fine. But you know there’s something wrong with you, right?”

”So kind t’ me, Dragoness. Jus’ f’r tha’, Ah get the ice cream.”

”The fact that you want to eat **ice cream** in this frigid temperature does so little to disprove my point. Just sayin’.”

He finished the latte in one fell swoop, tossing it over her head and into a trash bin just behind. Flexing his fingers, he suddenly lunged for her and snaked them up the back of her coat and sweater. She retaliated by beating him with a rolled up park map. Dawn and Sunny pretended they didn’t know them.

In the end he threw her over his shoulder, much like he had with Dawn hours before, and took the funnel cake with his free hand. Either the cashiers were very laid-back or they had not a care, because they just wordlessly pointed in the direction of the plastic forks, no comments supplied. Two were grabbed and carefully waved below her nose. “Try nae t’get my fingers too, will ye?”

She did grab the fork handles between her teeth, but not before she bit him anyway.

They found a table, Dawn and Sunny following with their traditional cake, and huddled close together with shoulders brushing for warmth. Marianne, released at last, waited until Bog got good and comfy on the cold metal seats, chatting with her sister until he was just about to take a bite. Immediately she slid him across the metal bench, hopping into the spot now marginally less cold. He hissed at her, but didn’t fight more than to shove a forkful of caramel-covered ice cream in her still-laughing mouth.

Truces were made since they all wanted _hot_ fried dough, and indeed Marianne and Sunny set in a bit too fast as they both started a charade of fanning their mouths as they tried not to spit out the molten food. Naturally, Bog had his camera up. To retaliate she whipped her phone out and got his first bite of ice cream on ‘film’. Sure, he may have requested it but that didn’t stop him from curling his lips in at the combination of cold weather and cold food. She had a strong desire to post that as well, opening the site and noting with a smile the number of likes she’d gotten. Stabbing a piece of dough, she aimlessly flipped through the few comments, rolling her eyes at the ‘what a cute couple of couples’ some distant family member had quipped.

Her hand froze when she saw the last comment, the words punctuated and proper and filled with such disappointment. Insults, too. Not even thinly veiled and she felt her chest hitch, just a bit, as she read and reread those bitter words. She didn’t remember moving, but she was on her feet and Dawn was asking something. Okay. Was she okay? No, no she wasn’t but it was easy- _so much easier_ to say yes, of course. Just have to- to check her makeup, go to the washroom. There was no time to see if that worked, because she could feel an awful pricking behind her eyes and this couldn’t happen **here**.

Marianne was moving, pushing through the crowd blindly as the bright screen lit her way. It was a beacon to the others, a very unwanted signal should they follow her, but she couldn’t look away as she stumbled along. She felt more than heard the person at her side, and expecting Bog or Dawn had her let out a jolted scream when she was face-to-face with a gory zombie. Her fist pulled back without thought, tears blinding her as the zombie became some disturbing mix of golden-blonde hair and a loving, achingly familiar face. She imagined pummeling the Roland/Dad hybrid, sending it flying to the ground as she threw her entire weight behind the strike. But a hand caught her wrist, another wrapping around her waist as she was jerked back and pinned against a broad chest.

She screeched, dragging nails down her assailant’s neck in fury, when she felt the hand holding her rubbing small, soothing circles against her inner wrist. The zombie actor had stumbled back with a yell, but her attention was no longer on his escape. Instead she tried to focus on the warmth seeping into her frozen self, the comforting smell of spices and woods.

Bog always smelled like the woods.

She sagged suddenly, feeling the arm around her waist tighten and the other shift to cradle her head. He was shushing her, walking carefully even as he managed to keep her tucked against his body.

Her breath caught raggedly as he guided her into a seated position. Not daring to lift her head quite yet, she focused on sounds, or lack thereof. Go figure Bog would find a place relatively less populated at a crowded amusement park.

They must not have looked much different than others, many a girl hiding their faces in their boyfrie-. Her breath caught all over again. She couldn’t. Couldn’t ruin what he was, what they had she just couldn’t. And as sharply as her breath caught she found she couldn’t remember to do it again, couldn’t get her lungs to work for her. She was choking on a gasp, body shaking so hard that she was pulled from his side and across his lap. Burying her face in the dull sweater (of course it was dull he never stood out _She couldn't let him stand out now _) she tried so hard to control herself.__

But he was still so warm, still shushing her and rubbing her back and whispering that he would protect her. No false promises of assurance; he knew she wasn’t all right. Her breathing started to regulate, she could feel her chest rattling but at least it was working. For his part he did nothing to rush her, didn’t even take the still-glowing cellphone from her cramped hands. When her breaths were as normal as she could get them, his hand slowed to a stop and she felt his own chest heave with a sigh.

”Ah’m not going to pressure you, Marianne. Won’t even ask. But if ye need to talk, I’m listening.”

Her eyes closed, because here was a man who expected nothing from her, who didn’t demand or use or try to fit her into some mold. He was safety, comfort, and she knew she would never do anything to jeopardize that. There was no reason to change a thing, not when it was perfect as it was.

###### 

Aaand I may have just tipped this over to 11 chapters. This was meant to go on, to finish the text scene, but I’ve been ballparking at about 3000 per chapter. So, there will be a part two! May alter the other chapters to make it stay at 10, may not. We’ll see!

I do not own Starbucks or Strange Magic or any variation of an amusement park Haunted Walk. Or Facebook, right. I do own experiences involving all of those things though!

Anyway, huge thank you for comments and kudos, it’s likethe best wake-up ever! Hope you’re enjoying the story, hope to see you all through to the end!

Huge shout out to Ishbella, by the by, because you comment on every chapter and I internally dance from it.


	9. And Everything Nice (Is Only An Illusion)

# And Everything Nice (Is Only An Illusion)

Marianne’s hand stayed fisted in his sweater, the other idly flipping the phone. Now that she was calmer, the trigger switch flipped and her panic attack over, the offer to talk was suddenly very daunting. She was severely embarrassed by the whole ordeal now, and just the thought of trying to explain all the little stupid things that led up to that one big explosion... It was nonsensical in retrospect and the prospect of muddling to find the words was frankly terrifying. One little Facebook message should not have been enough to make her _freak out_ like that.

What was making the situation all the more slippery, an impossible hill that was a losing battle to climb, was the full sprawl of his hand across her back. In the cold night he was deliciously warm, and between that hand and his chest she was in a cocoon of _him_. But she already knew how bad that level of comfort was. With a huff she uncurled her fingers and pushed him away, breaking free from his embrace with a small whimper at the renewed cold. He seemed to take that sound wrong because a crooked finger caught her jaw, angling her head right back toward him. 

”Are you all right, Tough Girl?"

The nickname had her bristle, just a bit, but she forced herself to calm down. In a way she was glad that he mocked her because it allowed that precious distance to be achieved all the easier. So with eyes still drying she snapped her head away from his hand, holding onto her cell phone like a lifeline. The same time she shut the screen off, she shut off her emotions as well.

”Don’t, Bog.”

”’Don’t’ what?” And if that weren’t genuine concern in his voice.

”Call me that. I don’t need to be mocked, thank you."

”Ah’m not tryin’ ta _mock_ you!” Her eyes actually sharpened on his own. If he wasn’t, then just what was he playing at? His hand, still hanging limply in the air where she’d dropped it, jerked to life again as he cupped her cheek. He was staring at her, but not in any way she was familiar with. His eyes were flittering over her face, taking in every inch like he’d have nothing more than to remember her as untarnished as possible. Or was it as ruined? She was no picture, nose red and eyes wet, but his gaze was still so very, very soft. “If ye could see yerself, _Tough Girl_ \- Whatev’r happened, it was enuff ta make you run. Enuff ta hurt ye bad. But even with all tha’, you haven’t actually shed a tear.” To prove the point, his thumb gently swiped under her eye, the calloused and acid-corroded digit brushing over dry skin. His face was still blurry from her unshed tears, but she felt a small swell of pride. He was right, she _hadn’t_ shed a single tear. Not over Roland, not over her father.

Her eyes flicked down to the phone, lip being abused by her teeth as she debated. She wanted to tell him everything, but at the same time she felt a very familiar lightness in her chest, little butterfly wings dancing about her stomach. She wasn’t stupid, she had a very good inkling what it was and just _who_ was causing it. Love wasn’t safe and no matter how great Bog was, she didn’t trust it, didn’t want to let her guard down. She’d thought Roland was perfect, her handsome knight in shining golden armour. If she let Bog in, it would all happen again and she would lose the best friend she had.

But there was that. He was her friend before he was anything else, and it was going to stay that way. Swallowing down, she unlocked the phone and handed it over. She’d drop her guard that much for him. It didn't stop her nerves from jumping at the thought of him fully understanding her pain. “It’s stupid, really. The, um. ‘Switch', or trigger or whatever you want to call it. And I don’t agree with it, and I didn’t say **anything** of the sort to anyone!”

Feeling the beginning of a ramble she thrust it forward, the screen lighting his face unappealingly as he flipped it around (and good Marianne, remember that, he’s _not_ attractive) and skimmed the contents. She knew what he was seeing, the four of them squished together with smiles and body contact and happiness; the kind of closeness families got, the ones you got to pick yourself. She could tell when he got to the ‘couples’ comment, and there was a good chance their faces were the same colour as he arched a brow. And when his brows snapped down, she knew he’d gotten to the last entry.

_To take your sister out of the house without my permission, and with **that impudent 'boyfriend'** to boot? I have no doubt that disrespectful thug friend of yours is responsible for your poor decisions. We need to talk, Marianne. I’m very disappointed. You were never this wild with that Roland around._

She closed her eyes like that would block the words that were seared on her eyelids. She felt Bog move away from her, the sudden increase in space creating such an obvious barrier between them that her trembling increased. It really was cold, wasn't it. It was also quiet as he took up the mantle of flipping the phone in his hand and then, “D’you want t’ talk about him?”

There was something open and pained about his face, some strange understanding, that broke her. Not in a cry-your-heart-out way, she refused to indulge two of those episodes in one night. No, it was more of a can’t-shut-up kind of dam break. She told him about her father, the company he owned and the rather large ( **large** ) price tag attached to it. Mentioned _The Guy_ , so good looking and charming and absolutely disgusting, the filthy, slovenly _wretch_ of a- He’d waved his hands at her, blue eyes concerned, and she sighed.

He knew the effects of what Roland had done. She wanted to tell him the why.

”One day I stopped by his loft to drop off his wedding suit. It was only a week away and I was, hah, I was panicking! Trying to make sure _every. little. detail._ was perfect. But I got there, and there was this tiny square envelope under the door. I threw his suit on his bed and I should have just walked by that thing.

But really, I’m glad I didn’t.

It was a letter, pleading him to keep ‘such intimate matters’ private. I still remember how pretty the handwriting was, so feminine. My writing looks like a drunken chicken. Dawn always wondered what happened to my 'womanly touch', maybe Roland wondered too. And this perfect, feminine letter, it was the absolute best heart-breaking letter, right down to tear blotches. Roland’s training to be a paralegal so at first I was scared. What if I’d opened a client’s letter, peeked at confidential files? But no paralegal I knew got personalized cheques for fifty grand, either.

Roland’s nothing if not meticulous. His appearance, his loft, his **blackmail** \- I found a tablet tucked under his pillow, it was barely hidden. I never slept there, so I shouldn’t be surprised he left it around. That- that tablet was filled with women- naked women that he was-

They were all from the same angle, to the left of the bed, so he must have had a hidden camera. It wasn’t there when I checked. The emails he sent demanding money were all easy to find, though, labelled under ‘income’.

They were all rich, those girls. Girls that were supposed to marry rich and well, happy to play perfect trophy wives. Can’t do that if nudes are plastered on social media, or if there are sex tapes floating around the darker corners of the web. He used them all, one after another, just to get money. I just-

I don’t understand me. Was I do be the jewel in his crown, the richest of them all? No need for blackmail when you own the cash cow, right?

That’s all I was good for. A shiny gold dollar to match a shiny gold ring.”

Her breathing was quicker, but still no tears. Bog was sitting quietly, hands laced throughout her entire rant. As she took her stabilizing moment he lifted his head to stare into the smogged sky. The fairgrounds were distant now, neither paying attention anymore.

”You’re worth more than him,” she wanted to cut him off then and there, tell him that like it or not Roland was a Greek god- disgusting and flawed but still- in the eyes of women, but Bog was persistent. “Because any man that cheats on a woman that loves him is lower than low. And if he’s at the bottom, then there’s no place you can be but above him.”

She felt her resolve to push him away crack a bit at that, but he wasn’t done poking the old wound. “And for him t’ not know what you are, Tough Girl- No, _Marianne_. For him to nae see how p’rfect ye are…” His cheeks were ablaze, hands gone from rigidly clasped to fluttering anxiously. The delivery was awkward and his accent avalanched the more he spoke, but it just made it more endearing. “Then, ah. He’s more of a bludy idiot than Ah ever imagined.”

The prickling was back, both behind her eyes and in her nose. “He c-called them Buttercup. All of them.” And it was hard to convey the feeling there, the betrayal and the absolute bitter taste it left. Knowing he was a cad was one thing, but to know that what had been real love for her was just some conceived routine for him… She was just one fragile little buttercup in a field of trampled flowers.

”Yer so much more than a wee little flower, M’rianne. Yer a dragoness, stunnin’ in yer ferocity. Ye duin’t need someone ta come pluck ye away; yer more’n capable o’ flyin’.”

A tear finally broke, sliding down her cheek as more and more followed. He moved forward, pulling her against him as the dam finally burst. She could feel his heart beating, a frantic drum in his chest. He was too close, she was opening up too much.

This was getting too dangerous.

Her chest rattling, she squeezed her eyes shut as she thought of the words. Words and courage gained by carefully catching each and every butterfly lose in her stomach-

“Bog.”

and they were so hard to get, fluttering out of reach as she held onto him just a bit longer but she _had to_ grab them-

”Thank you."

catch them so she could crush them into the ground under a firm heel-

"Thank you for being such a good friend."

and listen to her own heart break anew.

###### 

Dawn kept glancing in the rearview mirror, curiosity bright in her exhausted eyes. She and Sunny had been fired a text from Bog, just an update that all was well and they were going to wander around on their own. She'd been severely disappointed, claiming Sunny was **not** allowed to take her twenty until they had a confirmation; namely, a kiss caught in image. When there were no more texts from either one, she started to get worried.

Now, with all of them together again and crammed in the car, it was obvious all was not well in honeymoon-land. Bog and Marianne had taken the back seat, strange enough on its own. Sunny was in good spirits about driving, so she hadn't pressed. But when they passed landmarks and theatres and things she expected them to comment on (there was even a man in a cow onesie walking the streets), the back was as silent as a grave. Both of them were hunched into their own parts of the car, and she could see how uncomfortable Bog must have been with his long legs rammed against the back of the driver seat. His knees were almost against his chest for heaven's sake!

Marianne... Marianne's eyes were rimmed red, and that scared Dawn. She was used to protective big sister, scary big sister. Any time she saw her upset, there was a flare inside her. She couldn't say she wanted to hit someone, nothing like **that** , but- but no one deserved to hurt her sister! Her arms crossed tightly as she blatantly stared in the mirror. Neither was paying attention to her anyway, so she wasn't exactly worried about getting caught. When Bog raised a hand and pressed it against his mouth, his look a perfect replica of a kicked puppy, she couldn't help it.

"Soooo! Did we all have fun tonight? Those scarers, they were **crazy** , am I right or am I right?" A single tight-lipped smile from Marianne, and Bog didn't even make an effort to utter a word. That yawning pit in her stomach deepened, and she realized it was for his benefit too.

They'd hurt _each other_ , and she knew this wasn't something she could interfere with.

###### 

Really short chapter, but I'm on a roadtrip and huddled in a bus terminal at the moment :3. Oh. Oh right. Yeah I feel no remorse. Sorry!

There Is a _very_ good chance I update another chapter today. I have five hours until my bus gets here. And then there's just the finale! Maybe I can have it up before I hit Winnipeg!

If you want I'd looove comments! They make me so happy, as some of you know because I've told you I dance around and squeal when I get them. No joke. Sometimes I play swing too.


	10. Toe The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a tad darker than others, you have been warned. There are mentions of drugs and extortion, please be don't get mad for ignoring this!
> 
> Also, f-bomb. Sorry!

# 

###### 

Bog would not say he avoided Marianne after their Hallowe'en fiasco, not in the slightest. He just conveniently remembered chores and put-off obligations whenever she shot him a text was all. He felt horrible for it, he did, but he wasn't sure he could speak to her properly yet, not without some rather stunningly awkward conversation. He'd already risked enough with his heart-to-heart, since she'd taken it about as well as a kick to the face.

He just needed time to regroup, time to draw back from whatever magic she'd cast on him.

So whenever she text him asking if he was hungry, the extent of their contact since he'd become so _busy_ , he made a habit of just casually turning it down so he could set about picking at his bowl of Jell-O or oatmeal or other mundane food. As far as he was concerned, Jell-O had fruit and was thus an acceptable substitute. The twelve lost pounds in a month might say otherwise, but he wasn't worried. It was baggy sweater season (every season was baggy sweater season), so his mother had no need to know. And since Marianne was just as awkward with him as he was with her, she had no reason to notice it either. He couldn't handle her fussing over him, not when she did it out of a sense of 'occupational duty'.

His mother was starting to become more of a nuisance then ever before, too. A not-so-recent, on-going, heckling nuisance. She'd been asking about Marianne a lot, hounding about the dinner pictures he used to send like clockwork and whether or not she would be joining them for Christmas in two weeks. At this rate he wasn't even sure he wanted to go, not if his whole holiday was one long disappointment.

The most current bowl of Jell-O lost all intrigue and he pushed the bowl across his desk, hiding it in a nook carefully plotted to be out of webcam view. He might have been embarrassed by the other bowls stacked there, ones he'd slowly been accumulating, if he could be bothered to care.

His room was a mess, unfolded laundry and the dishes scattered about and all strategically off-camera of course. His mother had already drilled him on his unmade bed last call, which had been a kick in the pants he never wanted to deal with again. Standing in the middle of his room, clutter and dishes tucked away in corners with early morning December shadows making everything look dismal, he felt a wave of depression. Slowly, so slowly, he began gathering dishes. It was Friday, which meant Marianne would be cooking on the line. There was no way she'd be in the dorms until her dinner service was over. More than enough time to at least do his dishes.

He barely noticed the walk down the garish hallways, trying hard to ignore Marianne's door. He had been tired and lifeless lately, and it was no mystery to him why. Even his professors were noticing it, and he was naturally dour in lectures. His photo lab prof had pulled him aside to ask about the number of ruined prints, the bleaching so white in spots there was only a hint of the subject. He'd spent so long holding the q-tip, soaked through with potassium ferrocyanide, that the fingers of one hand were truly splitting, and stained yellow besides.

Thankfully the kitchen was empty, not that many used it. The extent of other dormmates was the ocassional dried macaroni noodle galvanized in the sink, or tomato sauce painting the white stove top. Today it was gleaming, which meant Marianne had been there recently. Shifting a bony hip against the counter (even he would admit it now, he should probably eat sooner rather than later), he began the mindless process of upturning bowls over the trash bin. Nothing vile, and he thanked his light appetite as dry cereal, two pieces of toast, and the bright yellow Jell-O vanished into the not-so-empty bag. He set the bowls down, leaning now with both hands flat on the countertop and his forehead resting lightly against a cupboard. He'd skipped showering the previous night and wondered if there would be a mark for Marianne to find on the bright white paint later.

With a groan he pulled away, ducking down to grab for the paper towels Marianne had stashed. The mark- and there was one- was first to go. Then he attacked the stove and sink, frustration starting to bleed through as he scrubbed harder and harder at already-clean surfaces. A damned single noodle, missed in the clean, had turned to steel alongside the sink. Fuck it, it was possibly diamond by now he was sure of it, and as he attacked it the tube snapped clean in half. The force of his hand rammed it against the hard remains and he felt the skin break.

He cut himself on a fucking dried broken noodle.

Roaring in anger he punched the cupboard, listening as the wood creaked under the assault. He wanted to break it, to smash something. It was childish, he knew, to be acting like this just because Marianne had _played_ him- **no**. No, she'd never given that illusion, he'd just allowed himself to hope. He'd dropped his guard.

The door opened, and he knew he was a mess with hand-raked hair and a bloody palm dripping on the floor. He heard a gasp, a surprised one, and a wet paper towel was held against his hand. He hadn't seen little Dawn move, and yes. It was Friday, wasn't it? She did like to visit.

"Boggy, what did you do? Just hold that there!" She pressed a fresh towel to him, running to toss the old. He didn't miss the confused look at the contents, the food trashed and rather the unique bowls stacked sloppily on the counter beside. Thankfully she didn't comment, just quiety went to work with that first aid kit again.

"So, not sure if you knew, buut. I've been kind of looking for you because, surprise! Marianne's birthday is just before we leave." He didn't say a thing, just looking over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed up at him, slits of blue and he suddenly saw Marianne in a different pallette through the petite sister. "You're going to do something for it, Boggy. I don't know what happened between you but she's miserable and at _least_ twice as scary. At least say goodbye, will you!"

He sighed, eyes shifting. "It's Bog." And she looked like she might just hit him, which would probably break her fist with the way she curled it, so he relented. "All right, fine you crazy creature. Ah'll do somethin' for her birthday. Can we jus' drop it now?"

She smiled, standing with a flounce, and nodded. "One week, because she works like crazy the weekend before we go so there won't be time. She's gotta like, work the Friday night and then there's a breakfast function Saturday and she still has to pack! But Dad's coming for us at three on Saturday to take us home and if you don't say bye I'm- I'm gonna be really mad!"

She ran out and with that fact- dad's coming for us- he decided he would in no way be saying goodbye to her face.

###### 

Bog would say he **completely** avoided Marianne the following weekend after Dawn's confrontation. He wasn't even in his dorm room. He did shoot a text, an apology for being too busy to attend her little party, and her response was about as curt as could be expected.

Now, a week later Saturday had rolled around again, the day she was to leave. Dawn was at the hotel with her father (he'd had Steph confirm that) and Marianne was tied up at her job. They left that afternoon, and he had shamelessly booked a flight three hours earlier than their departure time. By the time she got back he'd be long gone.

Stepping back to survey the room, he couldn't help but smile a bit at his handiwork. Maybe she wouldn't appreciate it, maybe she would.

Hell he really hoped she did.

Walking out of her room (thank you Steph), he ran bodily into someone. There was an instant strike of fear- anyone but Dawn- and he stared in confusion at the blonde, built, and vaguely familiar male just about to knock on his chest.

"Oh, you must be mistaken. See, this is my li'l Buttercup's room. I jus' can't see what business- you- would have here, whereas I- am here to sweep that little lady off her feet."

Bog jolted, a full-body, very visible jolt. The plan was in his mind before he thought it through, and if Marianne caught wind of it _ever_ she'd gut him. Regardless his voice lilted high and innocent. "Oh, but -see-? M'rianne gave me a **key**." He let Steph's key dangle freely between two stretched fingers, watching Roland's eyes widen and face go green.

"You? -You?!- I knew she was upset, but- to- you?!" And he shuddered, picking his hands close like he could avoid even touching the subject. Bog took the chance to loom closer.

"Tha's righ', -me-. And Ah pr'mise yeh, if you dare come near M'rianne again, tha' nice white smile'll be half a set down." And he bit out the words, lips drawn back in a snarl and let the beast with the perfect teeth see his crooked ones. Just as an added scare, he grabbed him by his bold green jacked and offered a good shake.

The man almost whimpered, but Bog was far more curious in the little packet that fell out of his pocket. Shoving Roland back, he scooped it up to get a better look. He was no expert, but a tiny bag of white powder was rating high on his suspicions list.

"What. Is -this-." His voice was caught in a tremble, and there was a curious ringing somewhere behind him. Roland was pushing his back against the far wall, face sticken.

"It's just protein powder! Gotta stay strong for my Ma-EEK!" Bog slammed the wall beside him, bag clenched tight in his free hand. Roland was sweating profusely, eyes flicking rapidly between Bog and the bag. He made a lunge for it and Bog met him square with a punch to the jaw. The ringing was louder now, drowning out Roland's pained cry as he flailed back. 

Drugs. There was no other answer. He was going to drug Marianne, blackmail her like he did the others. To _what_ , to _marry_ him?

When Roland ran, he didn't think twice as he followed with a roar. Roland was fit, yes, but Bog was taller, had a longer stride, and he positively wanted to kill him. The ringing was so loud, the kind of sound that blocked vision too. He remembered grabbing his hood, stitches popping as he slammed him into a wall but he **got away** , kept **running** and Bog was left with a fistfull of tattered fabric.

He might have punched the wall, still-healing knuckles smearing blood before he ran. It got confusing, the ringing robbing everything but the thought of crushing Roland under his boot, and that thought was what kept him only a leap behind.

There were hands yanking at him and he writhed, angry at being dragged from the _monster_ almost driving his elbow back until he saw the dark blue suit. It took far more effort than he liked to admit not to strike, but with another roar he sagged. He was breathing heavily and it was synched with his heaving chest because that bastard was pointing to him, getting a waive from a second police officer- _when had they arrived?_ \- and Bog was being pulled to the squad car, head cracking the roof as they shoved him in. The ringing was so loud, so very, very loud and he wanted to fight; keep Roland away from her because he had to protect her- but the door slammed, for a brief second cutting the growing cacophany in his head.

###### 

Marianna was mid-service, leaning over a massive roiling pot of water with a whisk in one hand and a slotted spoon in the other. Orders were being called- 'four Bennys all day let's move!'- and her hand was already flying for the stock of eggs as the other whipped life into the hollandaise. She'd have to make another batch soon, she could see it splitting a bit as it hit the plate. Peameal was sizzling in a pan next to her, not technically her station but they were just pushing the final seating rush, and she quickstepped over. The whisk switched hands, never stopping, while she flipped them and flew back without treading on any territorial chefs' toes. Flurries as white sleeves and black aprons danced around each other with minimal destruction (she dropped one poached, a shout for the dish pit for clean-up was made) and the last three tables' plates were snatched away. Professional until they hit the back rooms, she and her fellow students high-fived with whoops.

It was their first line job completely on their own, no head chef or sous to whip them into shape. And other than that one awkward pancake incident, they'd rocked it. She laughed a bit with the others before floating to the back and untying her apron, eyes flicking to her phone. She didn't usually check it during work, but she'd been the early prep crew and was pretty damn close to freedom. Considering she had to meet her father for three- so looking forward to going home for the holidays, what sarcasm- the early shift was a relief.

Holding the phone, she had a strong surge of hope that maybe Bog had text her. He'd been pretty quiet after she'd cried, and she had spent hours telling herself it was all right that he couldn't deal with her crying. Roland hadn't been able to either.

Her face crumpled into a glare at that, shoving the thought away as she clicked on her phone. It was only 10:30, a damn miracle. A message from Steph? Unusual.

_Bog got arrested, come get cash for bail_

###### 

Bog's head was pounding, a tooth-gritting buzz that sawed at him relentlessly. It was hard to hear anything still, even an hour later, and he was trying to cope by tucking his head between his knees.

"What the hell?!"

Her voice cut through the fog, dissapated it like sun through shadow. He was on his feet before he even realized it, pressed close to the bars as she stormed closer.

"M'rianne, yer safe, Ah dinnae know if he foun' ye-" and she was yelling at the officer on duty, waving him over to open up the cell and _she was all right._

 _ **"Bog King.**_ You are going to explain to me why you are in this cell, why you had a wad of hundreds stuffed in your pillow case, and why Steph had to pull me out of-"

That cell opened, she was there safe, and he kissed her.

Laid his hands on her face, fingers tangling slightly in her hair as his lips pressed against hers. His heart leapt hard in his chest, and his blood chilled because-

-it felt wrong.

She was frozen, not reacting at all and he jerked back so hard he hit the bars behind him. That didn't stop him from seeing her face, eyes watery and betrayed as she stared at him. When she spun on her heel and walked out, he finally listened to his damned head and stayed.

###### 

I am amazing at cutting myself on random things in kitchens. A broom, a mixer, yes, a noodle...

Geeky Stranger Danger side-note; I was typing the finale out in an underground bus terminal and Wild Thing started playing on the overheads. It was brilliant.

Also please remember to honour your veterans today. Lest we forget!


	11. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry to get this out so late, but it's the last chapter so you all won't have to wait on me anymore!
> 
> I still plan on doing a sequel because Griselda (and Dagda they would be hilarious anywere within twelve feet of the other) so hopefully people look forward to that!
> 
> Also some delightful person listed a bunch of Strangr Magic prompts on Tumblr and it's been bouncing about my head all day. Curse you, Strangers.

# Closing Time

###### 

Marianne fled from Bog, not giving him a chance to follow as she bolted out of the entire building. Her father's car was parked outside, and she angled for it as she tried to block out traitorous thoughts. She opened the passenger side, dropped in, and didn't even look at her father as she barked a choked 'drive'. His mouth opened, no doubt to scold her for the entire ordeal she'd just put him in, but something on her face had him snapping it closed again. She was surprised he managed to hold his tongue; he'd be justified in his yelling after just having driven her to pay to have B- have **him** bailed for public disturbance.

Not caring how her father took it, or Dawn for that matter, she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged tight as she ignored the tears finally welling up from her shinmering eyes. She felt as lost as she had when she'd found about Roland's lecherous ways. But this was- it was worse, almost. He was her best friend, and he'd changed everything in under five seconds. How was she supposed to treat him now? If he _loved_ her could they still joke and laugh and play fight, or would things be too different to handle? If he _loved_ her then their times together would likely only fall apart, because how could he love her and still be her friend? What if lovesick Bog was completely different, if she couldn't stand to be around him because he had changed too much?

She was scared, and she wasn't going to hide that.

Dawn must have made a motion because her father thankfully continued his silent streak, the lack of sound pressing down right until they came into sight of her dorm building. She took a breath, then one more, before turning her head to stare at her father. He was ashen, whether with worry or anger she didn't know. Maybe it was his face that compelled her to talk, but she broke the silence.

"Roland cheated on me." The quiet sentence had the car screech to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, and she continued in the same volume, tone monotonous. "I caught him a week before the wedding. That's why we broke up." Before a word was said she rammed the door open and bolted across the ashphalt. Dawn was calling after her, but it was just so much easier to be alone right now.

Steph and Thane were in the hall outside her room, and Steph tried to catch her before she stormed in.

"Wait, King said wait!" But she had jammed the key in and-

"Oh."

Strings ran from the entrance in a myriad of colours, all across the room so they could form almost a tunnel that lead to her own bedroom. Each and every string was sagging under the weight of photographs. Hundreds of them. Tens of hundreds. Snapshots, prints, photo strips, mixed and arranged with as many memories possible. Her, Dawn, Sunny, and even those rare pictures of Bog. Steph and Thane had some, as did the Starbucks girl who knew their orders in a blink, a guitarist that often chatted in The Pit, a personable professor that always dressed in blue. Shots of her dressed on the line, natural and not at all posed as she pointed with a pair of tongs. She walked slowly, letting the memories guide her and stopping so often to trace the glossy surfaces that it took almost ten minutes to get to the yawning door. Her lamp was on, a single stark white gift wrapped with a white bow sitting under its light.

It was light, almost felt like it was empty, and she fell onto her bed with it sitting carefully in her lap. "When did he...?"

"He's been in the darkroom for weeks getting them. Strung them up this morning. Wanted to do it before he flew home today." She nodded weakly to acknowledge that Steph and Thane had followed her, even as her heart made the oddest jump.

_Flew home... Scotland?_

"Are you wanting us to take them down maybe? We look **quite** good in some, but if they are bothering you..."

Distantly she heard yelling in the hall, and her door was still open so it soon sounded in the room. Her father's frustrated voice, even Dawn piping in, and Bog's comforting brogue, wrapped though it was in indignation.

His voice, pained and pleading and almost garbled at that moment, was the push she needed to rip the paper. Lifting the lid reveiled a picture of her tacked on the underside, proud and cocky in her stark white chef coat. In the box, a square of white paper. Lifting it carefully she was greeted with a bright shock of purple, deep and streaked with blacks and stitched delicately with branching patterns. There had to be some metallic in it because it caught the lamp light like a spider's web. She wanted to see it in daylight.

The square paper flipped, his scrawl a bit more controlled as it fought to fit on the small surface.

_Marianne;_

_I spent so long trying to think of something that could compare to you, something worthy of you. But you're too bright for anything simple. Then I remembered seeing you work, and you're so alive with passion and emotion. It seemed wrong, all that fire hidden under white. I wanted people to see you for the uniquely beautiful person that you are._

_And yes, I checked. You're allowed to wear this scarf to work, I made sure!_

Just like that, after something so heartfelt he was still a goofball, and she realized she was an idiot. Kissing him wouldn't change anything, because he was still Bog and he loved her.

He _loved her._

Her eyes shone, tying the scarf around her slender neck as she was taught was acceptable for kitchen work, and she bolted out of the room. Her father and Bog were still standing out in the hall, her father (dare she say) protectively placed between her and the Scotsman, but they both stopped when she planted her hands on Bog's shoulder and shoved. He stumbled, hitting the wall and staring at her in anger, bleeding to confusion when he saw her fiery expression.

"What th' _bludy_ hell, Marianne?!"

"What the bloody hell is _right_! Why didn't you tell me you were going back to Scotland?!"

She took a swing at him and yes, it was a bit harsh but _damnit_ he was a frustrating man! He was far more prepared, catching her fist even as she leaned in and struggled against him. His anger carried over the anxiety from the alarming proximity they were being pulled into. 

"Oh, Ah'm sorry, do ye have t' know ev'rything?! Because ye sure as hell didn't like what ye found out back in th' pen there!"

"Maybe I was shocked you decided to kiss me!"

"Maybe ye shouldnae been so shocked, tha's wha' ye do when ye lofe someone!"

"Well **maybe** I'd like you to do it again, what d'you think about THAT?!"

He didn't seem able to process that, so she shoved him again, her trapped fist giving leverage. When he fully stumbled, she caught the front of his still-bloodied shirt and used years of strength gained from hauling bags of produce to yank him half-up and to her. Her mouth slanted against his, and this time it was proper, both of them responding to months of pent-up tension as they fought each other. Her hand curled tighter into his shirt as one of his wound into her hair with a tug, but it wasn't enough. She fell to her knees, bracketing his hips as he slumped the rest of the way to the floor and licked against the seam of his mouth. When he responded in kind, and very heartily, she couldn't help the tiny noise he pulled from her. Bog pulled back at her quiet whimper, eyes blinking rapidly before he blanched, head whipping to stare in horror at her gaping father.

Right.

Oh well.

Shaking him, just enough to catch his attention, she went to lean in again. He leaned away. "M-M'rianne. Ah- er. Tha' is- Ah'm gonna miss m'flight."

Later she would take pride in retelling how calmly she shifted back, rolling smoothly to her feet to stare down at the confounded man. There was a great deal of pride in the sharp swat she delivered to his shoulder, too.

"Are you actually serious."

"No, wai', that came out wrong!" She glowed internally that even when he staggered to his feet he stayed hunched and drawn in, cheeks blazing wildly as he leaned heavily on the wall for support. She had done that to him. His hands wringed and that awkward shyness was all directed at her, right down the not-so-subtle _ahem_. He lifted his head tolook at her straight on, hope so bright in his eyes, even as she could see fear and uncertainty clouding him. His voice became soft then, a secret just for her. "Come with me, Marianne."

There was a choked noise, Dagda trying to get a sound out. Bog had a look akin to a deer, and the next words seemed more a hope for survival than any extension of an olive branch. "A-all o' ye, then! There's room, an' my mother, she'd lofe the chance te host-"

Dawn grabbed her father's arm, shaking like a tiny chihuahua as she reminded Dagda that he totally owed her for being mean about Sunny, and he owed Marianne too! Her next direct action was to launch at Bog, dainty arms wrapping around his midsection and chin hooked over his shoulder. He stumbled, hand only lightly clasping Marianne's but never breaking contact, and Dawn gave an excited thumbs-up to her sister behind his back. Dagda looked stricken and tired as he ran a hand over his face, but finally he offered a tremulous smile to Marianne. Marianne knew he'd say yes. Eventually.

Seeing as Bog was distracted, her father stepped forward and lightly reached for her arm. She would have pulled away, still too sore a wound, but then she saw the sploched cheeks and shining eyes.

"D-Daddy...? Were you...?"

"Oh Marianne. My little girl. I am so sorry." And then that tear slipped free, trailing down his cheek and getting lost in his beard. She hesitated no longer, stepping forward and clinging to him like her life depended on it. "I should have trusted you about Roland. I- You deserve my trust. And if you think this man is good for you, then I believe you." He pulled back, one hand cradling her cheek. Smiling, she leaned into him. "I'll introduce myself after, I think. He seems to need saving from that flirtatious sister of yours."

Indeed Dawn was chatting Bog's ear off, but his pained grimace was only for show as Marianne caught his eye. Soon his face had an easy smile, nervous but gaining confidence as she looked at him. Dawn looked between the two, rolled her eyes, and shoved him forward. "Still gotta get your answer from her, Boggy!"

Shooting her a look and a small scoff, he let it drop before turning towards Marianne.

She stepped forward, meeting him more than halfway and tilting his head away from her father's direction. He definitely looked nervous about the other man, but she gently shook her head. "He'll want to talk to you later. For now, you have to deal with me. And Bog-" Her hands traced his face until her fingers wove into his hair, pulling his forehead against her own.

"Bog King, I think I love you." His quiet laugh was one of happiness, and a bit of disbelief.

"You think, Tough Girl? Can I somehow help ye prove it?" Her fingers tightened in his hair, yanking him for another kiss as his hand traced her jaw and brushed the scarf, the bright purple as vividly happy as she was.

###### 

There we are that's all she wrote! Well. Other than the sequel of family fun time and other adventures. A sneak preview, "Mother I've invited her father what **do I do**?!"

Not sure when I'll even start on those, but I really wanted to get this story up and posted sooner rather than later. I really hope you all enjoyed the read, it's been a blast!

Also sorry for typos, did this on my phone. Still not quite situated from my vacation! Really hope it was acceptable and you all enjoyed! So nervous about posting this chapter...


End file.
